


A rainbow in the storm of life.

by hobbeshalftail3469



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith, Strike (TV 2017)
Genre: AU based on Strike being gay and Robin also gay, Basically retelling some of the good bits as gay!, Blow Job, Hand Job, I am firmly of the belief that almost ALL love stories can be rewritten as same sex love stories, Jo is Matthew - had to use a name that could be female of male, M/M, Robin is a Temporary Solution arrival, Strike has fought with Charles, The longing and pining is still there, They will get together, Watching, aka Charlotte!, but before then we have lots of pining and glances and longing across a room, cumming on each other, it made sense at the planning stage but who knows!, lots of kissing and stroking and all manner of juicy things, sharing a room in Barrow!, so this is my attempt!, some of the canon stuff has a lot more possibilities with 2 guys!, the drunk pub thing.....oh yes!, there will be much description and love for the sternum bush!, they are detectives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:07:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 43,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28961433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbeshalftail3469/pseuds/hobbeshalftail3469
Summary: OK, so this is basically a two male, gay version of the story we know and love - I shall be stealing some of the 'good bits' from canon, but mainly this is focusing on a possible love story/pining angst story between two men as opposed to a male and a female. In planning this out I appreciate it isn't everyone's cup of tea - no worries, no judgement, read if you like, avoid if it isn't for you - but it won't be explicit for a while and I shall be making anything that becomes 'juicy' clear in the chapter titles if you want to read along but ignore anything that describes man on man action so to speak.I am very firmly of the opinion that most decent love stories can be reinterpreted as same sex versions, and I just LOVE writing loved up boyz.....so here you have it!The title is vaguely based on a short Byron quote and of course....rainbows!
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 101
Kudos: 21





	1. Thanks for sorting out the coffees Simon

Robin Ellacott strolled along, hands shoved deep inside the pockets of his navy peacoat; his buckled, khaki canvas messenger bag slung across his body as he fiddled with his phone to ensure he picked the correct side street to dive down to reach his latest temp agency job.  
One week, working in another ultra modern, or by the looks of the location, dinghy as hell office on minimum wage.  
He noticed the street sign and pocketed his phone, dragging a splayed hand through his gingery blonde hair, thinking not for the first time that day that he'd used a touch too much wax, so it was a little more over styled than was his preference.

Jo had said he looked great when he'd kissed him goodbye and wished him well.....obviously....but Jo liked him primped and polished!  
Jo had also made it clear that he wanted his long time partner to find a 'proper' job; so that they could buy a proper flat; and consider making a proper commitment to each other.  
Robin considered their most recent 'discussion' about the on going issue.   
It wasn't that Robin didn't love Jo; he did....it was just that since they'd moved to London Jo had changed so much. His need for material gains and to be seen in the trendiest clubs had started to take over from their relationship - and Robin really wasn't completely sure that they could overcome the differences.

He hopped briefly off the kerb to allow a female pushing a large buggy clear access on the pavement and flashed the appreciative woman a warm and honest smile, his blue-grey eyes sparkling and glanced up at the tall, rather dilapidated building which he accessed via a wine coloured, 4 letter boxed doorway off Denmark Street.

He started to climb up the cast iron, curling staircase, thinking that at least he'd get a glutes workout each day as he'd no doubt be up and down getting coffees and the like for whoever his boss would be.  
The throbbing sounds of bass guitars from the shop on the ground floor was drowned out as he reached the first floor landing , replaced by the raised voices of two, clearly identifiable males.

The first voice shrieked in what Robin always considered to be a rather unappealing 'whinge' - something about "never around and bring in next to no money," whilst the second voice was deeper - much deeper, and incredibly sexy.   
It was the kind of voice that created a sharp frisson of electricity deep within Robin's groin....although it's rather x rated narrative was almost amusing in it's content as it said something about not "knowing what the fuck you want anymore," and "walk away then you fucking arsehole," and Robin inhaled in order to control his facial expression.

The landing on the second floor was very small, and as Robin approached it he witnessed the glass panelled door swinging open and a tall, slightly androgynous man exit. His darkly, exotic facial features and full lips contrasted with the bright whiteness of his teeth, bared as they were with venom.  
He hardly noticed Robin, casting a glare in his direction, making the amber haired man fling himself to the side of the stairs as he flounced past, his slim figure snaking around as he hissed a withering, "You'll come running back, you always fucking do!"

The silence following his clanging footsteps down and out onto the street was deafening, but after a quick clear of his throat, Robin continued up the stairs, his long legs clearing 2 stairs at a time as he hastened to the glass door emblazoned with the lettering for C.B.Strike Private Investigator - he didn't want to admit it, but he was secretly eager to find out what had gone on behind it, and more importantly who was the owner of the second, deeply groin blazing voice.  
He was recalling the exact, rumbling timbre as he rounded the final stair, heard a tread of feet and checked back over his shoulder to ensure the dark male wasn't having second thoughts and returning.

15 stone of unseeing, snarling masculinity crashed directly into Robin's chest, momentarily knocking the air from his lungs as he lost his partially placed footing and began to windmill his arms.  
A large, darkly haired hand acted on instinct and swiped out, making contact with a large portion of firm, pectoral muscle as well as a handful of crisp, white cotton twill and succeeded in ensuring that the man wasn’t knocked clean down the stairwell.

“Christ all mighty!”, that deep, resonant baritone this time had a more limited impact on Robin, mainly because he was trying to rapidly refill his lungs with air as he was hauled upright and dumped rather unceremoniously on the bare boarded landing.  
Robin numbly followed the enormous, shambolically haired man inside the shabby office and was urged through the complete chaos of the room towards a sofa which had seen far better days.  
He perched on one seat cushion, massaging his left pec and nipple which had been grasped roughly by his dark haired rescuer.   
He spotted that one of his shirt buttons had been wrenched off, and tugged at the fabric as the pillow and blanket which were strewn beside him on the sofa were hastily bundled up and stuffed under one sturdy arm of the large man.

“Sorry about that,” he rumbled, wincing as he tried to smile and aggravating a bleeding, open cut on his upper lip, “Erm….how can I help you?”

Robin shook his head to dislodge the fact that he was staring unashamedly at the visible swarthy dark chest of the man who was resting his buttocks against the desk - visible due to the fact that his blue shirt was hanging almost unfastened over his crumpled navy trousers.

“Sorry, errrr….I’m from Temporary Solutions…..here for the week,” Robin stated, dragging his eyes away from the tantalising masculinity and instead finding a pair of hooded green eyes narrowing and staring back at him.

“No…...I cancelled that…..definitely!” the large man stated.

Robin gave a shrug and a wide eyed smile, “They’re pretty strict on refunds….and to be honest this place looks like you could do with some help…..for today at least!”

Jesus he was gorgeous!  
The large, dark haired man had rather hastily reacted to the slamming of his body against the slender, but rather muscular looking man now seated, smiling on his knackered office sofa.   
Now that he had a chance to regard the temp properly he was momentarily floored by the remarkable clearness of his blue-grey eyes, by the delicate pink of his curved lips contrasting against his white, even teeth.  
His slim fitting grey checked trousers were neatly pressed, his suede footwear showed a slightly more maverick style choice, as did the fact that he was not wearing a tie. The flash of smooth, slightly freckled chest exposed by default of his having lost a shirt button was rather delectable and caused him a flicker of imbalance to his equilibrium.

The man seated on his sofa was a direct contrast to Charles; their latest blazing row had ended with the chocolate skinned man smashing a glass ashtray against his top lip before, not for the first time in their 16 year relationship, leaving in a dramatic flourish.

And he’d been intending to follow him…..to beg for a reconciliation….again…..except this honey haired creature had literally intervened.  
He had a rather beautiful smile…..he had nice hands with smooth, neat nails…..he had a smattering of freckles across his sleek nose….and the skin of his cheeks looked quite impossibly smooth.

Fuck it!

“Alright….OK…..if you could just….you know…,” and he gestured vaguely around the mess and detritus of his and Charles’ row before limping slightly in the direction of another office leading off from a disorganised kitchenette. “I’ll be in my office.”

Robin waited until the man had exited, only pausing to pick up a small pot plant as he carried the tumble of bedding with him into the other room.  
He removed his jacket and hung it on an ancient coat stand by the side of the door - next to a huge chocolatey coloured overcoat which when brushed against issued an aroma that reminded Robin of pubs and Tiger Balm.   
It wasn’t unpleasant at all.

Starting by gathering the random collection of scattered papers Robin adjusted his shirt again, gave his chest a further rub, and a moment of scrutiny - the area around his nipple was reddened and would probably bruise, but it was quite erotic to consider that the marks had been caused by the thick, strong fingers of the man who was now, based on the noises emanating from the office, clearing his throat of at least a week’s worth of smoker’s tar!

Less than forty minutes later the office had been returned to tidiness, the small Busy Lizzie had been watered and the dead leaves swiped into the waste paper bin when there was a knock on the door.  
“Good morning,” Robin greeted the rather wiry gentleman clutching a battered cardboard folder under his arm. “Can I help you?”

“I’d like to see Mr Strike please….I haven’t made an appointment but I’m a friend of his,” stammered the slightly gawky man. “My name is John Bristow.”

Robin urged him to sit on the now plumped up sofa cushions and moved calmly to the office door.   
Knocking he heard a deep, “Yeah?” and entered, closing the door behind himself.

“Hi, there’s a client to see you….Sir….a Mr Bristow….he hasn’t got an appointment but he says he knows you,” Robin explained noting that the large man appeared to have been focusing on stemming the blood from his nostril and upper lip and smoking whilst Robin had busied himself nextdoor.

“I don’t know anyone called John Bristow,” he mused, but puckered his lips ruefully; and painfully based on the wince and sharp breath. “Having said that, there’s nobody else booked in today….so show him in…..actually, could you just stall him for a couple of minutes?”  
Robin nodded and guiltily, reluctantly, glanced away as the giant of a man dragged a battered canvas holdall which was over spilling with random items of clothing towards himself and began dragging his current garment from his torso.  
Robin managed a second, lip biting glimpse of the broad, shirtless bulk of his boss before he clicked the door closed, turning and smiling as he asked whether Mr Bristow would like a cup of tea or coffee.

Having requested coffee Robin busied himself in the tiny kitchenette - he’d already established that the kitchen had neither coffee, tea, milk nor mugs or cups of sufficient standard to offer a guest, but having offered he realised he now needed to provide!

“Shall we go through?” he suggested, having given what he hoped was sufficient time for the man on the other side of the flimsy wall to get his shit together.  
Apparently he had, and as the door closed once more he ploughed down the stairs and breathlessly found a pretty, funkily dressed assistant in the guitar shop who was more than happy to help out the attractive, polite man……….they usually were!

Strike had been in detailed conversation with John Bristow for a short while, discovering the exact nature of their acquaintance when the door to his office was nudged open by a firm shove of the amber haired man’s slim hips as his hands carried a tray filled with cups, saucers, caffettiere, milk jug and sugar bowl, together with a small plate of half covered digestives.   
He knew that he owned none of the items on the tray, but flashed an impressed, and to Robin’s view fairly mesmeric gaze up into the waiting sea coloured eyes and mouth that quirked into a faintly amused smirk.  
“Thanks…..Simon,” the large man offered, receiving a fractionally arched eyebrow from the man who was efficiently pouring coffee and milk into one of the cups and placing it on the desk in front of Mr Bristow.  
With a sniff and a purse of his lips Robin retreated to the outer office, ignorant of the fact that his pert backside was getting a snarling appraisal from his boss - although he bit down hastily on a biscuit to disguise his whimper of approval!

Robin worked through organising the pile of papers into the appropriately named and labelled buff folders which had been strewn about - he only had 4 pieces of paper which had no revealing information and which would require querying before filing remaining when the office door opened and Mr Bristow exited, offering a hasty thank you for his drink on his way out.

“Thanks for sorting out the coffees, Simon,” the mountain of a man stated, dragging a splayed palm through his unruly curls, creating a different and yet still somehow completely acceptable style on his head.  
Robin nodded and wrinkled his mouth, looking up and meeting the tall man’s expression.   
He must be at least 6 foot 3 or 4, Robin thought, and he was built like a brick shithouse as his Yorkshire father would say!

“Erm….why do you keep calling me Simon?” Robin queried, crossing his ankles as he stretched out his long legs beneath the desk, resting his elbows on the curved wooden arms of the wheeled chair.

The lower lip of the giant jutted out and his eyebrows arched; he had the good grace to look slightly mortified; “That’s not your name then? Hmmmm, well, sorry….thought I’d heard you say Simon.”

Although he looked rather glorious when flustered Robin thought it best to put his boss out of his misery, so he stood up and took a step around the end of the desk, extending his slender hand, “I’m Robin….Robin Ellacott.”

His hand was accepted and squeezed in a formal, rather powerful but tender grasp, “I’m Cormoran. You OK around here if I nip out for a bit?” 

Christ his eyes were green!  
Robin nodded blindly, “Anything you particularly want me to do….am I OK like this by the way? I had a look but I can’t see it anywhere,” and he indicated his shirt with it’s one more than usual button opened.  
Strike gave a further appreciative glance at the open neckline of Robin’s shirt - in truth he’d been hard pressed to keep his gaze off it - and gave a potentially impish smile.

“It’ll be fine for my clients,” he stated, answering Robin’s questioning gaze by continuing, “I don’t have any!”  
Robin laughed openly, and Strike stifled a desire to make him do that again….immediately.

“You could check out this company,” he handed across a scrawled page from a small notepad “Get some biogs and details on these people...oh and find out whatever you can about Lula Landry and her past...family, school, online blogs and friends etc.”

Robin nodded and waggled the mouse next to the keyboard.  
“The password’s Hatherill23…..two ls.”

Strike swooped up the huge, overcoat, inhaling a lungful of fresh, soapy cologne from the navy coat he’d seen on Robin earlier.   
He could hear a rhythmical tapping on the keys and twisted before he opened the outer door.  
“Sorry about almost killing you earlier Robin,” he stated, meeting Robin’s amused expression as he lifted his eyes from the screen, pen poised in his right hand.

“No worries...I’ll see you later Cormoran.”


	2. I'll probably be gone for the rest of the day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keeping to canon - ish, this is a gloss over of the Lula Landry case itself, but with the establishment of Robin as a non Temporary Solution secretary now, and of course those images of Charles spark that trip to the Tottenham to console himself.

The week had passed and Cormoran had taken the case involving the death of the famous model Lula Landry.  
Robin had endured several evenings of barbed comments from Jo….they needed to get a joint mortgage if they wanted a decent flat in a decent (by which Jo meant uber trendy) location; which meant that Robin needed to look at getting a proper job - by which Jo meant a corporate, work til you die with no end in sight type thing in PR or personnel.  
Robin hated the thought of that.

The work he’d been carrying out for Cormoran Strike was much more suited to his level of interest.   
His tasks changed each day; sometimes tapping away on his computer, sometimes trying to interpret the scrawled notes on small notepads which Strike handed over, more often than not supplying copious mugs of tea - which he’d discovered his boss preferred the colour of creosote and whenever possible accompanied by several biscuits (Hobnobs, shortbreads and bourbons as the holy trinity!) - and on one occasion he’d been asked to join the large, brusque man to visit the flat belonging to the model whose death they were now investigating. 

It had been very exciting.   
Robin had enjoyed watching Strike ‘at work’ around other people; it had made him feel a sharp thrill in his belly when he’d used his body language to be rather forceful with the concierge, and then turned into a model of tender sensitivity in order to earn the trust of an important female witness.  
Walking back to the offices had been an opportunity to engage in small talk; in as much as that was possible with the burly man. He was not exactly a chatterbox!

“You got plans at the weekend?” Robin asked as they crossed towards the underground station.   
Robin had done research on his boss and knew about his rather flamboyant family background; the death of his mother; and the result of his service in Afghanistan on his lower limb (he’d done quite a lot of reading up on that, mainly because each article he discovered usually contained several images of a younger,rather buff and clean shaven version of the hulking, limping man beside him)….. the whole army uniform thing was a newly discovered addition to his personal wank bank!.......and Cormoran Strike in his swarthy prime in army uniform was a ridiculously frequent withdrawal!

“Well, I’ll obviously work my way through the pile of gilt edged invitations I've got and see if any meet my exacting standards…..but it’ll probably be catching up on the laundry and maybe catch the match. You?” Strike asked with a dismissive sniff as they crossed the road, him taking that fraction of a second longer to ensure his footing meant he dropped the kerb with almost natural ease.

“Oh, me and Jo have a thing around at friends. They’ve just got engaged, so no doubt Jo will get all whipped up with wedding plans and stuff…..in other words I’ll be forced to try and make small talk with the other guys; although hopefully they’ll have the match on!” he gave a wrinkle nosed smile, one which Strike had come to look forward to and had managed, as the week progressed, to become marginally less bodily aroused by.

Hmmm, Jo?!.......Robin hadn't mentioned much about his private life, but a marriage ready girlfriend called Jo....yeah.....sadly that was always the likely outcome of type of guys Strike was attracted to. Didn't stop his new secretary being incredibly easy on the eye as well as hyper efficient!

Back at the office Strike tapped away in his office, the door left open now as a more comfortable aura hung between them.   
The lower door buzzer rang and Robin made his now familiar swift clatter down and then back up the iron staircase having signed for the slim envelope addressed to his employer.  
Cormoran’s instructions regarding mail had been clear - “open everything and if it’s important give it to me, if it’s urgent give it to me with mug of tea, and if it’s bullshit file it under B….for bin!”

Robin therefore slit the end of the brown envelope and removed several A4 sized images showing the dark skinned, incredibly attractive man Robin had encountered on his first visit to the offices.   
The images showed the man elegantly clad and wrapped around a second, male, a real silver fox who screamed money just from the brand of watch on his wrist.  
A sticky note attached simply stated, ‘Your loss Bluey, C.’

Oh fuck! 

He’d had a great day so far, and back in the office Strike had asked for his help on the case - needed him to go and try to find some information out from a top boutique and pretend to try on some fancy suits in order to get it….he was gonna tag along but knew he couldn’t get access to the changing rooms because, “it’s the type of place that when I give my measurements they simply malfunction and drop the shutters!”

And now he’d have to present him with this….plus technically it was his last day working for him and he needed to get his time sheet signed and scanned off to Temporary Solutions….and then he’d be back on the list of ‘waiting for another job’ hopefuls.  
And there would be no further opportunities to catch a glimpse of Cormoran's swarthy chest or muscular forearms.....or daydream that he was the filter tip of the cigarette he was sucking on.

Robin heard a throaty rumble and could smell an increase in the tobacco smoke aroma which was like an underlying and uniquely niche air freshener in the offices.   
With a deep sigh he picked up the open envelope, his pink time sheet, a pen and gave a soft whistle at the doorway, waiting until Strike raised his furrowed brow and blinked, massaging his temple with the hand holding his lit cigarette.

“Alright?” he asked, easing back on his battered desk chair, trying not to notice that Robin’s crisp, pale pink shirt was clearly showing that his left nipple appeared either colder or more aroused than his right.

Robin jutted out his lower lip, “Can you sign my sheet?” he moved to place it on the desk.

“Can’t I do it tomorrow? After the boutique thing?” he asked, glancing into the depths of a mug and swilling down what was certain to be cold tea.

“Erm, technically it’s my last day today…..I was just gonna help you out tomorrow at the clothes place…..you know,” Robin shrugged and placed the sheet in front of Strike.

“Oh….right! Erm….OK, well I appreciate that Robin, and everything this week.”  
He scrawled his now familiar signature on the sheet and handed it across the table towards Robin who was still clutching the envelope.   
“Tell me to fuck off if you want but…..any chance we could cut out the agency? I’d like to keep you on until I solve this case, another week at least, there’s shitloads to do and…..like I said, I don’t want you to jeopardise anything for you…”

Robin’s belly had started to do the fizzing flip thing it did when he was excited and he butted in, “I’m fine with that. Yeah, I’d like to stay on, I’m enjoying it and there seems like lots to do,” he gave what he hoped was an endearing but professional smile, although it was increasingly difficult given Cormoran’s additional shirt button unfastened revealing a swarthy mass of the dark hair that he was desperate to sink his face into.  
Christ he was horny.....and a sudden realisation hit that he was absolutely NOT horny for Jo!

“Right, OK then…..that for me?” Cormoran indicated the A4 buff envelope still in Robin’s hand.

“Oh...erm, yeah…..I assumed they were for the business, but I think they might be personal….sorry….I’ll go put the kettle on,” and with that he handed over the pictures to Strike’s slightly perplexed expression and retreated.

A few moments later he was waiting for the kettle to boil and heard first the uneven tread of his boss followed by his rich, baritone rumble.  
“I’ll probably be gone for the rest of the day,” and with his massive overcoat thrown on he left the offices, the door rattled a little more firmly than usual behind him.

"Bugger," hissed Robin, wrinkling his nose and pacing towards Strike's office - the images had been tossed into the waste bin, but the cheap biro he'd been using was snapped clean in half on the desk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And YAY....we all know which bit comes next - cue drunk Strike and Robin helping him to get home (lots more possibilities when Robin is a guy too!)


	3. I'm a bit sad Robin.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drunk Cormoran in the Tottenham, drowning his sorrows and Robin of course goes to find him.....  
> For those of you who don't know, I LOVE writing drunk Strike......

Robin winced and hissed in breath across his lips.   
It had become clear, although unmentioned, that Strike was sleeping on a camp bed in his office which he stashed neatly away each day.   
Robin assumed he’d been living with Charles and that the row had rendered him homeless, a suspicion which had been fuelled by the unceremonious arrival in the office of several badly taped cardboard boxes labelled ‘Arsehole’.  
And shit…. Charles had clearly moved on - the first image he’d seen had been relatively chaste, but the second and third that he’d glimpsed had proved that the nature of his new liaison was not unsexual!

Poor Cormoran.

Robin realised he was absently stirring at an empty mug; and also realised that he was considering the multiple methods he’d like to employ in order to soothe and sympathise with his large, hirsute boss  
.  
Things between him and Jo were a bit shit….they’d got together by default of being the only two gay men in his incredibly small hometown - and whilst it had been great for a long time, they’d grown up, and moved on, and it was increasingly clear they wanted different things.  
They’d become pretty distant with each other - yeah they shared a bed; there was the required and somewhat mechanical kiss to say good morning, to say cheerio and to say good night; but really they now lived pretty separate lives.  
There hadn’t been sex in a while, and Robin had believed for some time that Jo was getting his kicks elsewhere, and as he contemplated it as he sat staring at the faded wall covering of the shabby office he realised that it didn’t actually upset or hurt him; in fact, maybe he should bite the bullet and mention something.

I mean, did he actually WANT to be with Jo anymore?

The phone range to drag him out of his silent contemplation and for the next few hours he was absorbed in tackling invoices, ensuring all of the documents overflowing in the inbox and shared area of the computer were neatly linked to the relevant, carefully labelled folders.  
It was just before 6 when he noticed the darkness outside and realised that his boss had indeed not returned….but nor had he returned any of the text messages relating to the business that usually would be pinged back promptly, even if simply to say ‘Sort it tomorrow, C’

“Bugger,” he mumbled under his breath before closing down the computer and wrapping his scarf around his neck. His navy blue pea coat followed and he slid his courier bag across his body before flicking off the lights, locking the office and descending the stairs, phone in hand.  
He made a few taps and rolled his eyes at the number of pubs flashing up on his screen; any of which could potentially contain his surly boss.

Making the decision that Cormoran surely wasn’t the type to frequent any place which presented itself as a cocktail or wine bar, and adding the filter of kebab take aways (they’d discussed various topics idly, mainly as Strike waited for the kettle to boil in the shared office area, and one of the things Robin recalled was him mentioning that he looked forwards to a greasy kebab en route home from his favoured pub.)   
Obviously, if he’d mentioned the name of the sodding pub Robin wouldn’t have spent the best part of an hour poking his head into a number of establishments which fitted his idea of a Strike Friendly local.

He was down to only three or four more options when he found the tucked away Duke of York's pub with it’s canopy covered barrel tables outside. Even if his boss wasn’t inside he’d decided to have a drink himself; and he really should consider messaging Jo to explain where he was - although on the other hand Jo hadn’t messaged or rang to enquire!  
Pushing open the door he was met with a musty smell of alcohol and sweat and the dulcet tones of The Pogues playing over the dimmed speakers…..yeah, this must be Strike’s pub of choice!

Sure enough he spotted his boss; who appeared more shambolic than ever, although it rendered him rather cuddly and vulnerable looking in a manner that was definitely impacting upon Robin’s ability to unfasten his coat, walk and remove his bag by the strap.

Cormoran’s unfocusing green eyes gazed up from his sweating face.  
He belched, seemed to finally recognise the figure infront of him and broke out into a goofy and slightly crinkly grin.  
“Rob’n…..whatyou doin’ ‘ere?” he slurred.

Robin had removed his own coat and was unwrapping the scarf from his neck, placing both across the banquette beside his boss who gazed across and flashed a small smile of recognition at the garments.  
“I came looking for you!” Robin offered buoyantly. 

Strike’s eyes softened a little more as he stared back at what Robin was convinced from his slumped form must be a vision of at least 3 fuzzy versions of himself.  
“You….are…..a vehy nice p’rson, Robin. I’m glad you came…..’am a bit pissed ac’shuly,” he hiccuped in a rather wonderfully high pitched manner - it was ridiculously sweet to hear such a cute noise emanating from the giant - and continued to stare and smile at Robin.  
“Are you now?” Robin asked rhetorically, “Well, let me catch up a bit….unless you still want to be alone?”

Strike waved his hands and shook his head rather dramatically, stabbing the table with a rough, calloused index finger, “NO! You MUST stay now Rob’n….I need you now here….and to be a shoulder an’ a pal….not a work thing now.”

Robin couldn’t help but smile at the disaster of a man sat at the table - how the fuck was he supposed to get him back to that flat? - but even with that thought in his head Robin still felt happy that Strike wanted his company.

“Alright, let me get a drink then,” he stated and turned to the bar.

“Put it on my tab….the super tab!” Strike shouted, grinning and giggling to himself as Robin ordered a gin and tonic for himself, emphasising a single gin when his boss vehemently encouraged him to “‘ave a double you lightweight!”  
Whilst being served Strike had made his way the few paces to join him at the bar and was slouching, breathing deeply and noisily, a sheen of sweat across his brow and making the hair at the nape of his neck damp and curled.

“How come you’re pissed then?” Robin asked, sipping from his drink and casting his eyes over his boss, thinking that even though he reeked of alcohol and cigarette smoke there was still a subtle lavender scent evident which seemed to emanate from his enormous over coat.

He snarled and puckered his lips, “S’not import’nt….jus’ life is sometimes shit Rob’n. Sometimes it is jus’ glorious and amazin’ and like twinklin’ lights, an’ golden hayfields and sunsets....but mos’ of the time it’s FUCKING SHIT!” he shouted the final statement, making several of the heads at the bar turn towards him.  
Robin however glanced at a couple of them and smiled, placing a friendly arm around his boss and minimising the potential scene as Strike hummed a little and leaned against his slender body.

“Anything in particular that’s made it shit today? I thought the case was going OK….and I’m staying around, so you can’t be THAT much of a disaster!” Robin’s grey eyes twinkled and the tip of his tongue flicked across his lips in a manner which caused all kinds of turmoil to Strike’s wafer thin and decidedly imbalanced equilibrium…….although it could just be 10 pints and 5 whiskies making him want to suck that little tip of soft, velvety pink into his own mouth.  
He managed to focus on the fact that he’d been asked a question and gave a soft, crinkle eyed smile that made the sober Robin desperate to see each day…..and possibly beside him on a pillow.

“You’re a vehy nice pers’n Rob’n,” he rumbled, shaking his head and rippling his lips at the bar towel infront of him, “What ever happened to love letters Rob’n? Can’t write love letters any more…..world’s gone bad Rob’n…...no love letters, s’all dig’alisashun.”

Beside him Robin smiled and bit his lip; drunk Strike was really rather sweet and disastrous.

He was also quite tricky to make sense of though, “Did you say digitalisation?” he asked.

Strike turned to face him, nodding and reaching with a slightly flailing hand to grasp his shirt, “I DID Rob’n! Nob’dy talks properly, nob’dy goes out of their way….’cept you do Rob’n. You came out of your way to be here an’ that is really, really nice and hooman not didshital.”  
He hiccuped again and stabbed at the bar with his finger, nodding and mumbling something inaudible, but glancing down at Robin’s slender legs and growling slightly.

Robin sipped more of his gin and tonic. He’d now, finally, had a message from Jo, wondering where he was; but for no other reason than he wanted to go out and needed to inform him that he’d already eaten.  
The thought of joining Jo at some trendy bar, as his boyfriend had requested, rather than remaining here in the rather dishevelled bar, with his gloriously drunk boss (he’d begun singing a mournful version of If You Go Away in a timbre deeply reminiscent of the original by Scott Walker) and with the prospect of having to take him safely home later was a simple one in his brain.   
He downed his drink and ordered a second, using the full bottle of tonic water to ensure he didn’t become overly affected by the alcohol.

“Have you eaten anything?” Robin asked, nudging Cormoran who had, to his delight, slumped back heavily against him at the bar.

“No!....Not ‘ungry,” was the spat and petulant response.

Robin chuckled and gave his hip a definite nudge with his own, almost causing the drunken man to lose his balance, but reaching out and grasping his slightly giggling bulk as he joked, “Oh come ooonnnnn….it can’t be that bad!”

Strike turned his neck to pierce Robin with a close proximity smoulder of epic proportions, his uneven lips tugged into a teasing smirk.  
“I think I’d probably like to eat something,” he murmured.

Robin drank a significant portion of his second drink, the ice cubes rattling in the glass before placing it down on the bar.  
“Come on then….I think my miserly wages can stretch to a kebab,” he stated, earning a pout from his boss.

“I prob’ly don’t pay you enough Rob’n….’specially not for this. Rescuin’ the boss is not in your job descrishun,” but he meekly picked up his navy, woollen scarf and draped it somewhat pointlessly around his neck before heading to the exit, Robin followed behind, sharing a glance of rueful acknowledgement from the barman.

Strike had used his lurching body weight rather than his hand on the door plate or frame to venture into the cold, drizzly London air.   
He tackled the slight step down onto the pavement with the muscle memory of one who had vacated the premises too many times to count, but he stopped as Robin more carefully ensured the door was closed and repositioned his courier style bag.

Strike's face was the picture of abject misery.

“I’m a bit sad Rob’n,” he murmured, exhaling his hot breath as a long, foggy cloud.

“I know,” Robin stated, he slapped his palm firmly and squarely in the centre of Strike’s shoulders, feeling the solid musculature despite the slumped form of the despondent man as he rubbed slightly, feeling a rumbling growl emanate from his boss. “Food won’t make it worse though….this way,” and he kept his hand in place, steering Cormoran in the direction of the main road where he knew there were several late night takeaways.


	4. Of course you are Robin.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Robin and Cormoran make their way back to the office where he's still sleeping, buy a kebab, share a urinal....oh, and Strike finds out that Robin is actually gay.

They walked and limped along in silence, Strike swearing at random pieces of street furniture and stumbling enough to mean that Robin didn’t feel secure removing his steadying hand; infact as they moved along some of the increasingly less busy pavements Robin found himself sliding his arm more firmly around Strike’s shoulders, enjoying the rumble of his boss’ breath as they moved along, and also noticing that his fingers grazed against the firmness of his thigh on a couple of occasions.

It was Strike who steered them through the doors of a basic, but pleasingly busy fast food restaurant, ordering a doner kebab with chips before Robin could say anything.  
“I need a piss,” he grumbled eyeing the small, relatively clean paintwork on the door leading to the toilets.

Robin watched him take a couple of unaided steps, but seriously doubted his ability to make it to and from the lavatory without mishap.  
“I’ll just…..” Robin shrugged and indicated Cormoran to the guy behind the counter, “Don’t want him pissing all over your floor…..can you do the chips open mate?”

Cormoran was semi aware of Robin behind him venturing into the toilets, the irony of which was not lost on his alcohol addled brain and inhibitions. He sniggered fairly boyishly as he rather purposefully stopped dead, causing Robin to crash awkwardly against his back.   
Twisting his neck and glancing over his shoulder Cormoran grinned, “I’m definitely not paying you enough for this!”

Robin laughed and cleared his throat, “Who says I’m doing anything? I’m just peeing and making sure you manage to tuck everything back away again after you have too! Don’t want your picture splashed across the papers with your dick out!”

“Wouldn’t be the first time!” Strike tried unsuccessfully to punch the air, but instead came to a stop propped against Robin and the wall infront of the urinal.  
Their proximity meant that normal lavatorial protocol of ‘don’t look at the other guy’s cock while they pee’ went largely out of the window, and Robin glanced down as he heard Strike’s flow of piss hit the metal trough - he’d tell himself repeatedly it was to ensure his boss was not hitting the floor and his shoes…..but even limp and pissing copiously there was a definitely promising handful down there.

Strike made that satisfied huff only men can appreciate - although apparently women after removing bras made a similar noise according to his friend from childhood, Ilsa Herbert!  
He glanced down as he urinated, his drunkenness had started to really hit him and he really didn’t have much choice, holding and directing his stream of pee as well as pulling his shoulders back and holding his head up was too much to tackle…..plus he wanted to see Robin’s cock if at all possible!

His fuzzy gaze was able to make out the pale pink tip as Robin finished peeing before he tucked himself away and waited for him to finish his significantly longer pee.  
A couple of shakes and he wrestled himself away, zipping his fly before opening his hands wide and announcing, “Da daaaa! See….I am capable of pissing and fastening my trousers Rob’n….I am a vehy capable man, despite being short of a leg….or a bit of it...you know that I reckon…..you’ve done research I bet...found out…..bet you don’t know I was a boxer….n’army….d’you know tha’?”

Robin bundled him across to the single sink and thrust Strike’s hands under the stream of freezing water, dipping his own underneath.   
There was no way of avoiding contact in the tiny sink and their hands moved against each other, the water sliding from one to the other, no further conversation between them as both men sought to control themselves.  
It shouldn't feel so sexy to wash your hands with a drunk guy you’ve just watched and listened to peeing!

After several minutes of what had ceased to be hand washing and had become opportunities to touch and entwine each others’ fingers beneath the jet of water Robin cleared his throat.  
“Your food’ll be ready…..come on,” and with a final tug on his thick index finger Robin shook his own hands dry and encouraged Strike to follow him back out into the shop front where he scooped up the small paper bag containing the kebab and water he’d asked for and gave his pouting boss the portion of chips, which made him give a happy grunt and a “Thank you Robin,” which somehow seemed out of all proportion to the simple tray of steaming fried potatoes!

Thankfully the food and attempting to eat it without burning the roof of his mouth seemed to occupy Strike enough for Robin to almost lead him, tugging on his huge overcoat, in the direction of Denmark Street.  
Once on the move Cormoran was rather like a galleon - only the smallest nudge was needed to make him alter his general direction - and before he had emptied the cardboard tray of chips they had reached the familiar, 4 letterboxed door with only a minor intervention needed when Strike had attempted to take a swing at a letterbox he believed was “Eyeballing me!”

Robin used his own keys to access the lower door and pushed Strike ahead of him, climbing the stairs behind him as the larger man used much more of his upper body strength to haul himself up the staircase, making Robin reflect on the fact that under normal circumstances Strike’s missing lower limb didn’t really factor in their work relationship.  
At the landing Robin reached around Strike to unlock the office door, he felt a deep exhalation of hot breath against his neck and had to swallow the desire to twist and meet what he would have found to be the deeply dilated intensity of Strike’s green eyes.

Strike had found a moment of clarity outside the office, on the landing.   
Robin was focusing intently on the lock of the door.  
It was dimly lit.  
He smelled amazing - like fresh laundry and the seaside.  
The skin visible above his shirt collar was smooth, and pale and lickable……..Cormoran was mentally considering whether his earlobe would feel as soft between his lips as it appeared when he was lurched back to reality with the door finally giving way.  
He gave a guttural groan as Robin entered the office first and flicked on the lamp in his own desk rather than the overhead light.

“Right then, old man, what’re we gonna do with you?” he smiled, placing the paper bag containing the rest of his food and the water beside the neat folders on his desk.  
Strike gave an audible and barely controlled huff as he flopped back onto the well worn sofa which with it’s mis-matched seating cushions.  
“Fuck off! Old Man!….I’m in my fuckin’ prime….could show you….show you my prime everythin'.” he rippled his lips as he shook his head and exhaled, “Better not go there….profesh’nal.”

Robin sniggered and made his way through to Cormoran’s office; he knew there was an army surplus style camp bed and bedding stashed behind the door and also knew that his boss was in no fit state to set it up himself.

He heard a banging noise and peered back into the outer space to see that Strike had reached out for the bottled water and knocked it to the floor.  
He was fumbling and attempting to kick it towards himself with his presumably whole leg, but was having limited success!  
Robin quickly swiped up the bottle and handed it to the large man, “I’ll fetch paracetamol too,” he stated, inhaling sharply as a slightly clammy, but large, swarthy hand captured his own around the water.  
“Thank you,” came the soft, deep announcement….which would have been rather romantic and intense had it not been for the loud belch which immediately followed the declaration.

Robin grinned again, “My pleasure….I’m just gonna,” and he flicked his head towards the other office.

Strike shook his head and groaned, “No!, No!.....you don’t have to do that….I’m fully capable now….go home….go home to Jo and pacify her and tell her what a pathetic wretch you’re working for!”

Robin froze part way between the sofa and the inner office and twisted on his suede lace ups.

“Jo’s not female Cormoran…...I assumed you realised. I’m gay,” his expression was one of almost comical surprise - there was absolutely no part of him that had assumed Cormoran hadn’t known!

For his part Strike’s expression reflected a mixture of shock and terror.  
Fuck!   
If he was actually gay then potentially……..  
No!   
NO!   
Not allowed, not good for business, for sanity for fucking anything!

“Course you are Robin,” he ruefully murmured, shaking his head softly, smiling and continuing, “You go and get home to him then…..probably best you should go.”

Robin however shook his head, “Nah, not until I’ve sorted out that bed for you…..you’re already gonna have one hell of a head tomorrow anyway!”

Strike chuckled and hauled himself up, following his slender employee into his office where he could hear thumping and scraping which he knew were connected to assembling his camp bed...and which he also knew had to be carried out in a particular way in order to permit him easy, one legged access to the loo.  
He watched as Robin stretched and bent over the metal contraption, fiddling with the odd hinge things on the sides and tutting as they seemed reluctant to fully fit correctly into place.  
He sensed Strike’s lurking form and hissed, “Is there a knack with this?”

In a stride Cormoran was behind him, leaning over rather awkwardly and pressing against his back, his hand tackling the familiar to him method of securing the cot bed.

“S’just a flick….like that,” he breathed, his voice thick and gravelly by now and the aroma of Robin in his nostrils making him feel all manner of emotions that he knew were inappropriate.

Robin allowed his eyes to drift closed momentarily.   
The close proximity of Cormoran’s bulk pressing against him was hugely erotic and somehow the realisation that his boss had assumed he was straight until now cast a completely different tone on all of their previous interactions.  
He managed to drag himself back to reality; the brusque feel of a hand over his own deftly twisting the hinge into place and moving across to the other made him clear his throat as he turned and picked up the neatly folded duvet and pillows which he’d placed beside him.

Strike was about to tell him not to bother with that, but the realisation that Robin’s hands would be smoothing down the bed linens he was about to slide under made him giddy; and also feel like a depraved pervert, but he’d tackle those issues later….alone!

“Right,” Robin stood upright, satisfied that his boss would be able to sleep in relative comfort. “I’m leaving water and paracetamol out in the kitchen, and try and eat that kebab, soak up some more of the beer!” he grinned and waggled his eyebrows as he moved around Cormoran and went to collect his bag from the office.  
“You gonna be OK for tomorrow?”

Strike tutted and ruffled his lips, “Robin, there are two things you need to know about me; firstly I have the kind of metabolism that means I can eat whatever I like and remain in peak physical shape,” he held aloft the small bag containing his still wrapped kebab, “And secondly, I don’t get hangovers, in fact I was a legend in the army for my ability to bounce back from a night on the lash!” and he gave an impish grin that made the sides of his eyes crinkle and one eyebrow arch.

With a deep inhalation and nod Robin adjusted the strap on his bag, tugged his scarf up and nodded, “Fair enough. See you at the boutique place at 11. Goodnight Cormoran,” he tossed the final comment across his shoulder, glimpsing his boss framed in the inner office doorway, leaning against the frame, eyes focused on what he assumed would be a fuzzy and possible double image of him as he exited.

“Good night Robin,” he replied, before blinking slowly and considering his options: piss, kebab, mug of tea, water, sleep and painkillers; not necessarily in that order….and the odd image of Robin’s sweetly freckled nose and fantastic arse thrown in for good measure.  
“You pervy fucker,” he said outloud as he limped towards the tiny, perpetually damp toilet.


	5. Vashti

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OK, this bit rather ran away with me.....but heck....why not!  
> The green dress obviously becomes a fabulous green suit.  
> Sarah becomes Shaz.....and may or may not perform the same plot role!  
> I'm playing around with timelines so it will and indeed does swerve wildly away from the almost canon start I've made.

Robin had got home to an empty flat.   
When he’d woken at around 9am on Saturday morning Jo was sleeping beside him, on his side, his back towards his boyfriend, dressed in tank top and sweats, the rest of his party gear strewn across the floor - something which had begun to annoy Robin more and more over time.  
He rose and showered, and made himself a round of toast slathered with apricot jam to go with a mug of tea.  
Jo was moving around as he gathered his coat and threw on a scarf; one he didn’t generally use for work as he knew it had cost a fortune - Jo was a bit overly fond of labels and price tags, but his taste in clothes was impeccable, and the stripes of heather, aubergine, and teal looked amazing next to Robin’s natural colouring.

“Where you off to?” Jo asked, yawning and scratching at his neck and leaning forwards for a kiss as Robin readied himself to leave.

“Work thing,” he stated absently.

“What? On Saturday? You getting overtime?” he asked, perfectly shaped eyebrows arching up into his hairline.

Robin shrugged, “It sort of sealed the deal on an extra week of work Jo….it won’t take long anyway. I’ll pick up something nice for dinner on the way back. What do you fancy?”  
Jo however gave an exaggerated huff. 

“I told Shaz and Tommy we’d go round and help with their flat pack stuff…...we were gonna make a day of it. Now you’ve ruined that for me!”

Robin rolled his eyes and shrugged, “When did you arrange that Jo? I’m sure it wasn’t on the calendar….I wouldn’t have agreed to do this if we had plans.”

“We decided on it last night. Spur of the moment thing…..now I’ve got a boring day ahead of me instead of fun. We never have any bloody fun Robs!” Jo stated, picking up a selection of unopened post and about turning into the kitchen.  
Robin glanced at his watch before following.   
Jo’s moodiness had become more evident since Robin had moved in with him, and although Robin appreciated that co-habiting took work and communication he wasn’t always certain that his partner felt the same.  
He sighed at Jo’s tensed form as he noisily accumulated the necessary items for a mug of coffee.

“Look….why don’t you go to Shaz and Tommy’s and I’ll join you when I’m done. I’m not going to be ages…...but I’m gonna get the chance to try stuff on in Vashti!” he nodded as Jo’s head twisted around as if on a spring.

“VASHTI!? Oh my God Babes….you didn’t say it was Vashti!” Jo knew of the high end boutique and had told Robin that he was working so hard at work to try and earn a big enough bonus to treat himself to one of their suits, which were in the higher 4 figure price bracket!  
Robin smiled and nodded, pleased that Jo had come over to him and was sliding his hands around his waist now in a conciliatory gesture.

“Does this mean I’m allowed to go and try on posh clothes and you’re not mad at me anymore?” he asked as Jo’s lips sought out the skin of his neck.

“OK. I can’t wait to tell Tommy and Shaz...they’ll be so jealous!” Jo giggled, “You have to try and get pictures….and memorise what the fitting rooms look like OK?”  
Robin nodded, “OK, I’ll try. You have fun OK and I’ll text you later see where you’re up to.”

Leaving behind him a seemingly pacified Jo, who he could hear shouting enthusiastically down the phone to their friend Shaz, his deep, masculine tones audible between Jo’s excited shrieks, and some clearly overly inflated information regarding Robin’s role at the boutique, Robin stuffed his hands into the pockets of his short, boxy pea coat and stuck his earphones in.   
He allowed the mellow soundtrack of Paolo Nutini to accompany him towards the tube, and then along the unfamiliar, rather high end streets leading towards the eclectic and incredibly trendy boutique.  
A glance at his watch showed he’d made far too good time, so he was about half an hour early of when he’d arranged to meet his boss.  
He sniggered a little at the thought of him….maybe he’d better text him - I mean he said he didn’t get hangovers….but……

In his office at Denmark Street Strike had proven himself to be a big, fat liar.   
He’d tried to drag his head from his pillow twice before finally succeeding in being able to reach for the remains of his bottle of water.   
The liquid trickling through his system had eventually enabled him to attach his prosthesis, and upon standing had caused a lurch to his stomach which had necessitated a hasty visit to the miniscule lavatory.

Twenty minutes later; and thankful that he hadn’t agreed to meet Robin there (no amount of the lime scented air freshener was gonna be able to tackle the odour!) he felt safe enough to risk showering - working on the assumption that between his arse and mouth he’d surely expelled everything from his digestive system.

The benefit of the almost impressively small bathroom connected to the office meant that moving without his attached prosthetic on the wet surfaces wasn’t as lethal as it could have been, and he spent as long as he needed, plus an extra five minutes allowing the trickling, but thankfully hot, stream of water to sluice away some more of his memories and embarrassment from the previous evening.

The fact that Robin had found him and manhandled him back to the office was at the forefront of his mind, and he vividly recalled that his secretary had corrected him in his belief that the ‘Jo’ he spoke of was female.

Robin was gay…..as was he.

The fact that he considered this for the additional five minutes he spent in the shower was rather predictable….and with a wince due to it’s recent toilet based activity, he used his finger and flannel in a manner which was part of his daily routine….although not usually one which involved drifting his thoughts waywardly towards the amber haired god who would be sat in the office making his life infinitely easier for a further week.

As he dried off he dimly wondered whether it would be unethical to stretch out the case and ask for him to stay even longer, however he shook the idea away, admonishing himself with a hissed, “Get a grip you bellend!”

He was in the process of swallowing down a mug of tea, with an added sugar (just the one sugar) when his phone buzzed on the work surface.  
The incoming message from Robin made him snigger and his lips twisted into a rueful grin as he tapped out a reply.  
Squinting to focus on the screen was still painful and seemed to require much more effort than usual, but he managed to send word that he was:  
‘Running a bit behind. I’ll see you in there. Stick with the story we agreed.’

He sent it and glanced at his watch, wondering whether he dared take a couple more paracetamol and then picked up his phone and quickly added a second message:  
‘Thanks for last night…..don’t usually drink quite THAT much!’

Robin had located a small, chain coffee place and was sipping on a peppermint tea when he received the first message from Strike.   
He was smiling and considering whether to type a response when the second text came through.  
He made a soft, happy sound in his throat and found himself almost stroking the screen and then shaking his head.

He’s my boss!  
He goes for dark skinned, elegant, uber attractive trendy types…..like fucking Jo! 

He finished his tea and cast his mind over the brief conversation he and Cormoran had had in the office on Friday morning.  
Having received information that someone in the boutique had been leaking details of the murder victim Strike was currently investigating he’d suggested Robin go in, be all “chatty and charming” (his words...which had caused a little frisson of delight in Robin’s belly!)  
Strike said he’d meet him in there, which implied he thought Robin was capable of going in under the pretence of being a groom to be with Strike as his ‘Best Man’, offering his opinion on a suitable wedding outfit.  
They hadn’t discussed the nature of the ‘bride’, but as at that point in their acquaintance it was evident Strike had assumed Robin was straight he decided that he’d go with the idea of being part of a heterosexual couple...why not!  
He therefore crossed the road and took a calming breath before pushing on the door into Vashti.

It was one of those almost religious type places - racks containing a scant collection of hangers; glass surfaces containing a single handbag or scarf; wall units displaying images of celebrities wearing items from previous collections.  
Not a price tag to be seen - if you had to ask you couldn’t afford it!

A male sales assistant with more facial piercings than Robin had ever seen before approached him.  
“Can I help you at all?”

Robin gave what he hoped was a calm and assured expression that portrayed ‘I can definitely afford to shop here’ and answered, “I hope so, I’m looking for a wedding suit, but not too traditional.”  
He was ushered down a curving, white staircase whilst ‘Holey Face’ spoke about possible options and asked various questions about location, colour schemes etc.  
Robin hadn’t thought that much ahead so simply gave the response he would have offered if anyone had asked about his own wedding wishes.  
So he’d stated it was a small, very relaxed affair, in a hotel, at Easter time and the theme was ‘informality’!

He was ushered into one of the large changing spaces which were sectioned off from the main changing space, containing several floor to ceiling mirrors and small podiums, by long, sand coloured drapes and Marlon, as he introduced himself, went off in search of items having verified Robin’s waist and inside leg measurement.  
Robin had made sure to wear decent underwear - a pair of clinging dark grey boxer briefs emblazoned with the ‘Versace’ name around the waistband (they’d been a gift from Jo at Christmas and he’s only worn them once!)  
He was also wearing a pair of smart, natural tan coloured brogues which he felt were appropriate for accompanying a suit.

With a rustle of the slub silk curtains Marlon reappeared and hung several beautiful looking garments on the rail and disappeared again, returning promptly with a collection of shirts and waistcoats which he added to the other garments.  
“OK, so with your figure I’m thinking a 3 piece; then you can go down to the waistcoat and shirt - you’ve got a fabulous shoulder line for a waistcoat,” Marlon stated, waggling his eyebrows and identifying himself quite evidently to be of Robin’s sexual persuasion - men who were that confident regarding and complementing the physique of other, random guys were usually gay in his experience…..he couldn’t actually take the man seriously in terms of considering his attractiveness though as his face contained so much metal he wasn’t sure any lip based activity would be possible without pain!

“Well, that would be good - me and my er….fiancee definitely want a casual but trendy vibe…..that’s why I decided to come here. Wasn’t this where Evan Daniels and Lula Landry were getting kitted out for their wedding? I mean obviously before she died?”

Marlon’s face turned fleetingly tense, but he was distracted enough by the sight of Robin divesting himself of his casual shirt and having allowed his gaze to travel down (spotted by Robin…..OK, he did know he was in great shape!) he brought his gaze back to find Robin’s grey eyes reflecting a casual twinkle of friendliness.

“Well, I’m not supposed to say….but the day she died…...THIS very changing room!”  
Robin gave the required purse of lips and shocked, open expression which was all the encouragement Marlon needed to share a great deal more than was professionally appropriate as he helped Robin into a darkish blue suit and white shirt combination.

It was a stunning suit - Robin surveyed himself as Marlon busied himself tugging down the jacket and smoothing the legs of the slim fitting trousers fabric. 

“And there’s a waistcoat too, but you could easily go for a contrast….so I thought,” and he held out a deep russet coloured item with shimmering satin back panels and lining.  
Robin’s mouth formed a tight ‘Ooooh’ shape as he slid free from the jacket and allowed Marlon to adjust the back lacing on the garment.  
“These are stunning because they’re made in the traditional, regency style, so you get all the shoulder and waist ratio thing. Ooof….gorgeous!” the dark skinned assistant wrinkled his lips and toyed his tongue against one of the various metal pins and rings attached to them.  
Robin couldn’t help but shake his head and laugh at his reaction, and regarding himself in the mirror he was very much impressed by what he saw reflected.   
Damn, he looked rather hot!

Robin managed to turn the conversation easily back to Evan and Lula and began to remove the clothes as Marlon unzipped a suit carrier and paused, finger tips together like a temple.  
“Right, OK. I don't show this one to many people because they just couldn’t pull it off…..but you….well, just try it on please,” and he turned to remove a deep green coloured suit from the bag.

Robin’s face reflected his impression - the fabric was a stunning, fine woven wool in at least 3 shades of green threads, one of which was almost a satiny mallard shade which gave the overall fabric a soft, subtle sheen. The lining was satin in the same deep greeny blue shade and the waistcoat which Marlon turned to reveal was created from the same fabric, but with the sheening satin back and a lacing detail to create two narrowing vents at the waist along with a deep, plunging v with slim lapels at the front.

“As I say….not many people could pull this off, but I reckon you might just have a chance…..please try it on!”

Robin’s eyes were shining - he glanced at the price tag as Marlon went off in search of a “cream linen shirt that would be perfect”  
Fucking hell! £8500!........for a suit!

The assistant returned and saw his expression and the fact that the tag was dangling idly in his fingers.  
“Oh ignore that!” he grinned, “We’ve reduced it by half ‘cos it’s the only one and doesn’t go with this season’s colours….that’s why it isn’t on display!”

Robin nodded and gulped….so…..fucking hell! £4250….for a suit!

He’d removed his shoes when taking off the blue trousers and slid his calves into the green fabric, sighing a little at the softness and clear quality of this pair.  
“Oh….my….GOD!” he sobbed as he fastened the trousers at his waist, tucking the thin, filmy linen of the shirt into them.

Marlon gave a squeal of rather unprofessional delight as Robin twisted in the mirror, slipping his feet back into his tan shoes.  
“Waistcoat…..definitely!” the assistant held it out so that Robin could slip his arms into the material.   
He fastened the buttons at the front whilst Marlon busied himself on his knees at his back pulling each of the back vents in tightly so that the differentiation between Robin’s shoulder line and muscular arms and his slender waist was maximised.  
A tie in the same fabric as the suit - it was so supple it lent itself perfectly to the job - was deftly formed into a Windsor knot at his throat and the jacket was added.

“Voila!” Marlon stood up and spread his hands wide, “Who could resist you in that? The mirrors out there are better though,” and he indicated the curtain.

In the larger space Robin could use all of the angled mirrors to check his appearance in the suit.   
He’d long since forgotten his reason for being there - and anyway he’d managed to gather all the details related to the case he needed - so now he merely marvelled in how good he was looking in a suit he could never afford in a years!

Shoulders looked wide but not threatening; trouser hems fell perfectly to his shoes; arse….yeah arse looked damn good but was a bit obstructed by the jacket.

He indulged himself and did a slow motion catwalk model jacket removal, allowing it to drop to his fingertips flashing Marlon a clearly tongue in cheek version of Zoolander’s Blue Steel causing them both to chuckle as Robin casually tossed the jacket up to hang from his fingers at his shoulder and slipped the other hand into the pocket of his trousers.

Strike had finally made it down the stairs and out of his temporary living quarters. He’d managed to swallow down a cheap cheeseburger, a Mars bar and a can of full sugar Coke as he’d made his way to the fancy boutique.  
Glancing at himself in the reflection of shop windows wasn’t a pleasant sight - he looked wrecked, although the waves of nausea had finally subsided.  
Tossing the empty can into a bin he sniffed deeply and pushed on the door to Vashti.

It was the type of place he despised, but he knew well from his relationship with Charles - he loved stuff like this!   
Strike sighed and pushed thoughts of his now ex lover to the back of his mind - Charles had tried to call, begged his Bluey to take him back or lose him forever, and, in a force of will he hadn’t known he had, Strike had selected the second option.   
That had resulted in the photographs, and the disastrous drunken stupor….and embarrassing though that had been at least he hadn’t sunk to the level of banging on Charles’ door and crawling back into bed with him for what had always, in their 16 years together, been amazing make up sex!

An incredibly young, thin female assistant with what looked like feathers attached to her eyelashes approached him with a look that demonstrated her belief that there was NOTHING in the shop of interest to him as a purchase, but he had the grace to accept that she was correct and smiled as he stated, “I’m meeting a friend here….I’m best man, he’s choosing a wedding suit I believe?”  
Feathery Lash waved him towards the stairs and drifted back to rearranging glossy, cardboard bags with shiny rope handles on a bookcase.  
He shook his head at the thought that nobody should be allowed to own a bookcase and not use it to store books, but lurched his beaten and still grumbling body down the stairs.

He heard the light, masculine laughter which he knew belonged to Robin and paused stock still on the stairs overlooking the scene below.

Jesus!

Robin was twisting and posing nonchalantly in front of several floor length mirrors, clearly having formed a quick and informal relationship with the assistant.   
Part of Strike was inordinately proud - that was exactly what he’d needed him to do to gather the information for the case -but a very different part of him was more pleasantly engaged in just silently observing.

The green fabric of the suit he was wearing, and the cut and fit of it highlighted Robin’s amazing physique and his soft colouring perfectly.   
He looked relaxed and confident - the two most attractive qualities Strike always went for in his lovers - and it was inconceivable that he should look that perfect and sexy when he was out of bounds.

With a hissed and whispered, “Fuuuuuuck!” Strike descended the final stairs and cleared his throat, making Robin turn and flash him what appeared to be an honest and open smile of pleasure in seeing him at last.

“Whadya think?” he asked, twirling around and glancing coquettishly over his shoulder with a delicious soft pout to his lips.

Strike had the presence of mind to remember his role and nodded, “Yeah!” was all he said, inhaling sharply and casting a glance over his disastrous appearance in the mirror closest to him.  
He looked and felt like a woolly mammoth who’d just landed in a gazelle enclosure!

Robin sniggered, if anything he was feeling slightly hot around the collar at the almost unbridled lust behind his boss’ gaze as his hooded, and it had to be said this morning decidedly blood shot and crispy looking, eyes travelled slowly up and down his body.

Marlon gave a huff as he regarded the shambolic, enormous figure.  
“Is he your best man? Well we haven’t got another one of these to fit ‘im!”

Strike clicked his tongue into his cheek.  
“Good! Don’t want your other half mixing us up if we’re wearing the same thing…...in the right light we’re often mistaken for twins!” and he waggled his eyebrows, giving one of his trademark, charismatic, twinkling smirks that made most people instantly soften in his presence….although Robin had noted that certain parts of his anatomy hadn’t received the memo!

He therefore raked his hand across his hair, “I’ll just go and try the grey one…”  
But was instantly cut off by Cormoran, “WHY? That one’s perfect…...trust me…..that’s the one.”

Marlon gave Strike a congratulatory smile on his taste and bluntness.  
“Listen to the man! That suit was made for you…..d’you wanna have a think about it? I can stick it aside.”

Robin gave himself a final appraisal in the mirrors, knowing that once he removed it he’d never again have the chance of being so perfectly and beautifully attired, before nodding and he hoped making it clear to his boss that he’d found out the info by telling him that he “didn’t need to go anywhere else, I think I’ll be coming back here.”

Marlon roughly dragged the drape across, but not fully - all boys together in a changing room mentality - and so Strike found himself watching as Robin removed and discarded the jacket, waistcoat, tie and then began to unfasten the shirt.  
He dragged his eyes away from Robin’s back - he hadn’t noticed Strike watching him….maybe it would be better to keep it that way - but unfortunately the presence of the mirrors in the large outer area meant that wherever Cormoran glanced he was met with images of Robin’s smooth, creamy chest revealing itself to him.

Robin had seen that Strike was watching him….his image was reflected in the mirror beside him….he also saw when he purposefully turned his head, and saw the puffed cheeks and resignation when his eyes flicked across the mirrors.  
Robin stifled a small snigger as he rippled his shoulders out of the shirt, he also gave a more purposeful flex to his abdominal muscles as he sat, wide thighed on an upholstered bench in order to unlace his shoes to remove his trousers.  
As he raised his head and stood up he realised that Cormoran was staring rather unashamedly at his reflection in one of the mirrors - presumably he assumed Robin couldn’t see and therefore confident to simply rake his eyes across him.  
Robin’s body felt like it was burning under the intensity of his gaze.   
He felt his nipples stiffen and could feel his cock, which had been semi hard since Strike walked in, twitch and start to stiffen further.

Fuck, he’d better get changed into his own clothes quickly whilst the clinging Versace emblazoned jersey could hold him at bay!

The ridiculous sexiness of the situation emboldened Robin a little and he stood, facing the mirrored reflection fully as he gazed directly at Strike, who he justifiable considered would think he was staring at himself in the mirror, as he loosened the hook and button on the trousers and slid them down his thighs, fully aware that the bulge in his boxers was evident….but not so evident as to be completely embarrassing.

Cormoran had angled himself so that he had a perfectly clear view of Robin as he undressed.   
He was sure Robin wasn’t aware…..he was looking directly at him, surely he wouldn’t be doing that if he knew Strike could see him? 

Strike wasn’t sure which part of Robin to focus his attention on; his body displayed IN the suit had been glorious, but as he rippled his smooth, lightly freckled shoulders out of the shirt Cormoran felt like he might burst.

The waves of turmoil in his belly were now not in the slightest part related to his overindulgence on alcohol and fried foods the night before.  
Jesus he had well defined abs - Strike no longer had a washboard stomach as he had in his army days, but he still very much appreciated one on a decent looking bloke - and Robin’s had a delectable looking belly button that he ached to flick his tongue inside.  
He watched Robin’s small nipples became even more edible as they hardened into small, pearl-like peaks and sighed rather audibly as, looking directly at him (although obviously he was just looking at his own reflection in the mirror….no way would Robin have maintained eye contact) he removed his trousers and displayed an incredibly promising looking boxer short arrangement!

With a gulp and a further hissed, “Fuuuuuuck me!” Strike allowed his gaze to linger on the muscular hips and, as he turned, pert and mesmerically firm buttocks belonging to his secretary.

Much as Robin was enjoying himself he knew from his tingling lower back that he needed to get himself covered before it became rather more blatant than was sensible that he was incredibly turned on by his boss eyeing him up.

He mentally chastised himself as he dragged his thicker weight grey trousers and casual shirt back on, although he did cast a few quick glances back into the mirror as he made rather a meal of tucking his shirt tails into his waistband, smoothing his hand across his Versace clad cock and receiving a little frisson of pleasure from doing so by imaging one of Cormoran’s swarthy hands there instead.

With a shake of his head and a muttered, “Nope! Bad Robin,” he fastened the cross over buttons on his navy coat and joined Strike who had ambled towards a display of socks whilst waiting - the sight of Robin shoving his hands down his pants to smooth out his shirt tails had almost finished him off and he’d needed to purposefully give himself a paper cut from a display of the store advertising to get himself under control!

“These are £40!” he stated, almost incredulously prodding a pair of the socks, “They’re socks!”

Robin sniggered and nodded, “Yeah but at least you get twice the wear out of ‘em!”

Strike let out an amused huff of breath as they climbed the stairs.  
“Less of that! Anyway, I still have to wear two socks you know….and I’m not paying £20 per foot!” he grinned as they exited the shop and strode easily down the pavement without either actually registering the direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just had to get a reference to Bad Robin in there! #ifyouknowyouknow!


	6. An inconvenient nipple ring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am playing with the whole timeframe of the books/TV version a LOT, otherwise this thing would run on even longer than I am willing for it too - and we all know how much my epics ramble on!  
> In this one I give Strike his flat and have the break up of Jo and Robin and the Strike going to comfort him in the pub scene.  
> I'm also bringing in Ilsa and her partner, Nikki - we are going all same sex lurve in this fic!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have hinted at an incident in the past similar to the one female Robin suffered, but I have been purposefully vague to 'Dear Reader' - rest assured, Strike understands, and that's all we need to know.

“I take it you got what we needed?” Strike asked as he rummaged in his pockets and lit up - his first cigarette of the day being after noon spoke volumes about the level of his hangover.

Robin nodded, “Yup. Our pal Marlon was like a leaking sieve once I got him chatting. You feeling OK?”

Cormoran exhaled smoke through his nostrils and quirked a single eyebrow, “Yeah…..bit of a sore head this morning….and a tad delicate, although I’m ravenous now. Do’you fancy grabbing some lunch and filling me in on what you found out?”

Robin briefly thought about Jo, waiting round at Shaz and Tommy’s chic loft space apartment and their hellishly high end, but still flat pack, furniture.  
“Sounds great…..what do you fancy?” he asked, “There’s a really nice Greek place around here I think.”

“Greek sounds perfect, let’s head for that,” and with Robin tapping in the search on his phone while Strike stubbed out his cigarette they did the ‘turning around and checking the arrow thing is the right way’ before heading off on the apparently 4 minute walk.

12 minutes later, and with Strike bemoaning the fact that Google Maps is a “Lyin’ Bastard!” they located the eatery and were shown to a table.

They ended up spending the next two hours picking at a mixed selection of rather god food choices, each enjoying the experience of the easy banter between them, the silences which never seemed uncomfortable and the sight of each other licking their fingers, or staunching the flow of oil from a particularly juicy olive with their thumbs.

Strike was pleased with the details Robin had managed to get out of Marlon; he’d go back and follow up on a few of the more specific things at a later date.  
“So the case is looking pretty well sewn up then?” Robin asked as Strike requested a further couple of the Greek lagers they’d been drinking at rather a sedate rate.   
Another beer would mean possibly a further half hour or so….he’d already felt his phone buzz once and when Cormoran went for a slash he’d checked - from Jo, annoyed as fuck and ‘feeling ,like a right prick because you’ve stood me up!’  
Robin couldn’t help but think that Jo’s version of the situation was rather one sided - yeah, OK….he should probably have not lingered for food and beers with his boss and gone to meet up with his boyfriend and his friends…..but surely Jo should have wanted him there for a reason other than simply being made to look like a fool?

Strike took a large gulp from his fresh, foamy lager and nodded.  
“Yeah, it’s looking significantly more sewn up than it was a few days ago, although I still need to find a way of getting close the uncle…...he’s not telling us everything.” He licked his tongue around his mouth and pressed his slightly off centred lips together as he thought.

Robin enjoyed watching Strike in thoughtful contemplation, you could almost hear and smell the cogs whirring in his head.  
“He’s hosting that event on Wednesday at the library,” Robin mentioned.   
It was information he’d managed to glean late on Friday afternoon, after Strike had disappeared to the pub, so the nonchalent aside was met with a rather animated response from his boss.

“REALLY?” he stated, “You got the details of it by any chance?”

Robin nodded, “Yeah, I did ping you an email…..something to do with a fund raising thing, he’s hosting it and loads of people connected to the law firm are attending, along with a few C list celebs. I reckon you could wrangle an invite if you ask Mr Bristow nicely!”

Cormoran was sipping lager and nodding, “I bet I could wrangle us both an invite…..strength in numbers. You fancy it?”

Robin’s insides fluttered with the thought - of course he fancied it!  
“Yeah….I mean if you think I could be useful,” he added.

“I’ll get onto John later and get it sorted. Right, I’ll get this…..thanks again for last night….appreciated,” Strike stood up and dragged his huge overcoat back on, wafts of ingrained tobacco and whatever the subtle lavender cologne he wore oozing from the heavy fabric.

“OK, no worries. Erm, I’ll see you Monday then.”  
With a clap on his shoulder blades as he went past him to pay the bill they separated.

Robin made his way towards the tube and sent a message to ask whether Jo was staying round at Shaz and Tommy’s and should he join them, or should he meet him at their flat. By the time he’d entered the tube the message had remained unanswered, he therefore took train towards his and Jo’s flat.  
The flat was empty so he set about doing the usual stuff that needed doing at the weekend - a couple of loads of washing, ironing a few shirts, cleaning the bathroom and changing the sheets on the bed.

As he shook the pillow free from it’s pillowcase a small, hard item flew from the folds of fabric and hit his bare foot.  
Stooping to pick it up he located and rolled a small, rose gold nipple ring with a chrome coloured bead attached.  
He recognised it instantly as the one Shaz had shown off a few weeks earlier when they’d been out for a couples meal.

Why the fuck it was stuck inside the tumbled sheets of his and Jo’s bed however was a mystery…..although as Robin sighed and slumped onto the edge of the bed it wasn’t really that much of a mystery was it?  
The reality of it all wasn’t actually as much of a wrench to him as he thought it should be…..did he care that Jo was sleeping with Shaz?

No….not really.

They hadn’t had sex in ages, and he wasn’t worried about catching anything - Jesus, they’d barely had physical contact in the past 4 months!  
The question was what did he want to do about it.

His option was to shrug it off as a hook up thing - although they’d always had an exclusive relationship arrangement - or, he could use this as the factor in making a break.  
That was scary though.

Strike made his way back to his temporary home - he really needed to get his act together and sort something more permanent - and the most instant requirement was a thorough clean of the tiny bathroom following his rather extreme morning evacuation!

As he was lumbering up the stairs, considering not for the first time how perfectly edible Robin’s backside had looked encased in silky looking green fabric he was struck by sounds above him.  
He wasn’t expecting any clients and he knew he’d locked the office.

As he reached the landing the source of the sound became evident - the plain wooden door adjacent to the office was open revealing the narrow, bare boarded stairway leading up to the upper most floor of the building. Strike had been led to believe it was a storage room used by the graphic designer who rented the first floor.

A youngish, unfamiliar man wearing jeans and a shirt which looked markedly out of place in the shabby surroundings appeared.

“Everything alright?” Strike asked receiving an initially wary, but quickly more comfortable expression from the man as he saw Strike slot his keys into the office door.

“Oh, yeah…..erm, just taking stock. Crowley doesn’t need the storage space anymore and I was looking at getting it fixed up for rental. How do you feel about work going on? I want to get it turned around quickly, don’t think anyone will want it in the current state, sadly….not really got much available cash flow for it, but needs must eh?” he said in a thick Cockney accent that was almost comical to Strike’s ears.

With a sniff Cormoran considered the new information.  
“How bad is it up there? Habitable? Has it got power? Water? I’m Cormoran by the way,” and he held out his hand.

“Mike,” Shirt Man shook the outstretched hand, “Oh it’s got power and water and no major defects - roof’s OK, no leaks that I can see…..it’s just decor wise it’s nowhere near up to scratch for an agency these days.”

“Can I ‘ave a look? I’m after somewhere myself - recent change of circumstances…..need something cheap and cheerful!” Strike smiled.

Mike laughed, “Well, we might be able to come to some arrangement on the cheap but I’m not sure I can fulfil the cheerful bit. Come up and have a look for yourself.”

Half an hour later Strike was shaking hands with Mike for a final time, having shared a few basic details and signed a hastily typed up agreement which Mike said he’d get made more official during the week.   
He was stood at the top of the narrow flight of stairs in his ‘new flat’ - I mean granted it made a postage stamp look spacious; and it was as shabby as fuck.  
But…..it wasn’t a camp bed in his office!

It had 3 rooms in total.  
There was a dedicated actual bedroom - that mainly contained a wooden framed bed, a mattress to complete it having been the first item Strike had looked at and ordered for delivery on Monday morning.  
The other main room contained a kitchenette that was actually smaller than the one in the office, but which had the added bonus of a small oven and 2 ring hob as well as a small counter top and a wall cabinet and a dated, but functioning fridge with a small freezer compartment.  
Mike had agreed to leave the large upholstered armchair in the adjacent space (they had both silently pondered how the hell the massive thing had been initially installed there!) plus a small, hinge leaf dining table with 2 mismatched wooden chairs.   
The third ‘room’ was a shower room and toilet which was impressive in it’s smallness, but actually served Strike well as it meant he’d have fewer opportunities to slip and fall. The ceiling beams throughout the space, which he’d have to get used to ducking for, would be very useful for when he’d removed his prosthetic too.

The rent he’d agreed with Mike reflected the shabby state of the place, but since it meant he’d not need to spend any longer or further finances on the place Mike had been more than happy to agree on the figure Strike had suggested.  
He could just about afford the rent on it and his office…..although technically this now meant he could no longer afford Robin after the period they’d agreed at non agency rates.  
He’d cross that particular bridge when he needed to though.  
As of this moment Robin had managed to crack open a really positive lead on his case; he’d spent rather a nice afternoon with Robin free from the constraints of work; and, he’d managed to solve his accommodation worries.  
That was about the most positive and non-drunk-inducing day he’d had in a long while!

Robin waited in the living room for Jo to return, and when he did he confronted him with the evidence of his infidelity.  
Jo’s reaction was to initially claim “It was nothing, just a fling,” but all of his pleading and attempts to talk Robin back into his arms and bed fell on deaf ears - mainly because as Robin retorted, having finally just had enough.  
“Jo, you’ve not actually at any point said that you were sorry for causing me sadness, for humiliating me infront of one of our so called friends, and you’ve not even once given me a valid reason for wanting to try again with you….so it’s over.”

He packed a small case with some immediate belongings and left, not really knowing where he was heading, where he’d stay or what the hell he was going to do for money.   
His paltry wages working for the temp agency were not enough to survive in London without Jo’s income and given that the agency only paid him a week in lieu he was skint until that money dropped into his account.

He’d wandered about for a while, and a persistent drizzle had started up making him seek refuge.   
Recognising the small, almost alley like street, he smiled ruefully and ventured into the welcoming warmth and relative quiet of the Tottenham; the same pub Strike had elected for drowning his own sorrows.  
It felt appropriate.  
He ordered a pint of lager - not his preferred drink, but it would last longer and was significantly cheaper than a gin and tonic - and slumped down at one of the tables.

After several moments of contemplating whether he truly had made the right decision in walking out on Jo - he’d seemed sincere in his claim to have not ever wanted Robin to find out and that it was now over between him and Shaz - Robin drank deeply and pulled himself upright in his seat.  
Of course Jo had been honest in saying he hoped Robin would never find out , but that wasn’t because he hadn’t wanted to hurt him, it was simply that he’d wanted to get away with it!  
So instead he placed down his partially drunk pint and began scrolling through his phone searching for the cheapest possible place to stay for a few nights.

He reckoned he could possibly afford £30 a night for a week maximum before his card would be declined for going over his already hefty overdraft, and there was very little available; and those that were affordable were so far outside the centre he’d spend more money than he had on getting to and from work each bloody day.  
With a huff of exasperation he tossed the phone down.

A few seconds later it flashed up with an incoming call…..from Cormoran.

R : [puff of cheeks and lengthy sigh] What?

C : Sorry…..should I not have called? I just wanted to mention that you can come in a bit later on Monday morning.

Robin gave a noisy groan thinking this would mean even less money in his bank balance!

C : I’ve got a couple of deliveries arriving….erm, so you can come in at lunchtime, but I’ll still count it as a full day pay wise…..you did all that today for a start.

R : Yeah….fine. [he moves the phone as if to hang up]

C : Robin are you OK? You don’t sound brilliant. Where are you? 

R : I’m…….I’m alright, I’ll see you Monday Cormoran.

This time he did hang up.  
The catch in his throat was threatening to reveal far too much about how he was very much NOT brilliant.

Jo had called and left an angry voicemail, the gist of which was “What are people going to think?”.....bastard.   
And yet the man who employed him had sounded so legitimately concerned for him - he’d clearly picked up on the nuances of his voice.  
Oh god…..he’d broken up with his long term boyfriend who was shagging one of their friends; he had nowhere to live; no money, oh…. and he fancied his boss!

“You complete fucking disaster!” he mumbled as he took a hefty swig of lager, and then returned to more restrained sips to eek it out.

Strike had made a snap decision based on how Robin had sounded.   
He didn’t know him particularly well, not really, but he knew what miserable sounded like, and miserable often went hand in hand with danger; especially in the world he usually investigated for a living.  
The background music and voice of Sam, the barman at the Tottenham, gave him enough clues and he pulled on his overcoat, grabbed wallet and fags before locking the office and the door up to his new flat and making the fairly familiar journey to his favoured pub.

Upon entry to the bar he saw Robin’s distinctive honey gold hair, he was a little slumped over, nursing the dregs of what looked like a now flat pint of lager.  
Ordering a pint of beer for himself and a gin and tonic (he knew that was Robin’s preferred drink, he could only assume there was a financial and practical reason for the lager!) before walking across, placing both down and straddling one of the upholstered stools.  
Robin glanced up and winced, but moved his phone out of the way, which Strike took as a gesture of welcome.

“Come on then, what’s up with you…..you look terrible!” he stated, pulling heavily on his pint and downing at least a quarter before licking the foamy head from his lips.

Robin wrinkled his nose at the remnants of lager which Strike deftly removed from infront of him, pushing the g&t forwards in its place.  
“Thanks for the morale boost,” he snorted miserably. ”Jo has been cheating on me,” he said, making a small sigh as the cold, fruity drink tricked down into his system.

Strike tutted and nodded softly, “Oh….well, what a moron.”

It was the invitation Robin needed and he unloaded the events of the day, along with a little more baggage from his past regarding how Jo and he had got together, and stayed together over the years.

Strike listened and made no comments, although he gave a small flickering acknowledgement behind his eyes when Robin spoke of the incident in his past which had cemented him and Jo as a couple.  
Yeah….after that you WOULD want someone to be there and care for you.

He allowed him to finish and made no indication of having witnessed the tears that trickled down his pale cheek - although the large man had in actual fact been hard pressed to remain seated rather than engulf the beautiful, weeping man in his arms and kiss the tears away.

“Well, I reckon you should probably have at least 2 more of those and I always find steak and chips is a huge comfort when I’ve been dumped!” Strike smiled softly.

Robin gave a watery eyed snigger, “I’m completely skint!”

Strike wrinkled his lips, “I probably don’t pay you enough…..I’ll bung it on expenses!” and he went across to the bar to order returning with a second drink for each of them and a small metal holder bearing the number 4.

Robin, Strike was pleased to note, had stopped crying and was looking a ,little less like a scrunched up dish cloth of emotions.

“Where you gonna stay then?” Strike asked, indicating the wheeled case which Robin had tucked as far as possible under the table.

Robin rolled his eyes as he drank more, the ice cubes clattering in the almost empty glass, “No idea! I was looking at b&bs or hostels but they’re all too dear and miles away….I’ll sort something.”

Strike took out his phone and had started scrolling through contacts and tapping to make a call as he spoke, “Well you can stay with my friend Ilsa and her partner Nikki, they’ve got a spare room…..just for a couple of days at least, get yourself sorted!” he added a little more forcefully when Robin began to protest.  
His deep, calm, practical voice was very soothing…..although the alcohol in his system and the prospect of hot food - which he realised was definitely long overdue - could also have been playing a part in softening his feelings towards his most unlikely knight in shining armour!

“Ils, hi….yeah I’m fine, just wondering if you can do me a favour….well, it’s a favour for a friend actually.”

A friend…….Cormoran considered him his friend!

A friend……..he’d just referred to him as his friend….was Robin his friend? Well, this certainly went much further than the usual work relationships, so yeah…..friend!


	7. Can you drive?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin settles into Ilsa and Nikki's....there is a little texting between Cormoran and Robin.  
> Robin helps Strike with his mattress - these two across a bed for the first time....oh the pining!  
> And we have the prospect of a trip to Barrow to look forwards to!

A couple of hours later, having devoured rare steaks and chips (with lashings of mustard for Strike and mayonnaise for Robin, which after the initial poo pooing Cormoran had to admit worked really rather well especially when offered across the small table on the end of Robin’s fork!) they were walking up the small front path of a semi detached house. It had been two tubes with a change of line, but still within zone 2, so not miles for Robin to have to travel into the office.

The door was opened by a woman about Strike’s age, maybe a few years younger, with long blonde hair fastened in a messy clip and a pair of warm, hazel eyes behind a pair of tortoiseshell glasses.  
“Hey you! Come and give Auntie Ilsa a hug you big lump of a man!” she stated, happily allowing herself to be lifted from her feet by a massive, and rather wonderful looking bear hug from Cormoran.

“Hey Gorgeous, you both OK?” he asked, walking through the doorway with Ilsa still held aloft in his huge arms.  
The other part of the ‘both’ became evident as a second female, tall and with an almost model-like slender figure appeared from the kitchen, smiling in greeting.

“Hiya Corm,” she gave him a quick kiss to his cheek and nodded towards Robin, “And you must be Robin.”

Ilsa was finally released from her friend’s embrace and the appraising glance up and down Robin was not lost on him as he smiled shyly….the quick little raised eyebrow she gave and returned glare of death from Strike was also noted.

“Hi,” Robin said hesitantly, “I’m sorry about this….I…..I’ve just left my boyfriend…..this was Cormoran’s suggestion…..”

Ilsa quickly shushed him, “Oh don’t worry, he’s used the facilities here about a dozen times over the years with Charles!” she said the name comically, sucking in her cheeks to reflect the slender, chiselled cheek bones Robin had glimpsed in his brief meeting with the man on the stairs.

“Pack it in, you!” Strike grumbled, giving her a good natured punch to her bicep, “Anyway, we’re over too….properly!”

“Fin-a-lly!!!” breathed Nikki from the lounge as they joined her.

The house was a comfortable, lived in home.  
“Well, I have, finally, decided it’s over….and Robin here is effectively homeless - I on the other hand happen to have solved my accommodation issues!” Strike plonked himself unceremoniously onto one of the deep red sofas, “Snagged the flat above the office - cheap, compact and bijoux!”  
Nikki seated herself next to him leaving Robin to accept Ilsa’s indication to take a seat on the other settee.

“Well, I reckon that calls for a drinkie…..yeah?” and Ilsa leapt without waiting for a response towards the kitchen.

“Actually Ils, I need to get back really….got a few things I need to sort out. You gonna be OK?” he directed the second part of his statement towards Robin, flicking his fingers against the skin on Robin’s wrist hanging limply from the arm of the sofa.

Nikki noticed the movement….she knew Strike….he wasn’t much for physical contact unless he felt comfortable around someone; he had clearly developed a rather specific relationship with Robin in a short period of time.

Robin felt the briefest contact of skin and hitched his breath as he swallowed and nodded.  
“Yeah...you’ve done more than enough. Thanks, Cormoran,” he stood and there was an awkward moment where neither was quite sure whether to offer a hand or a hug.   
In the end it was a sort of combination one armed clasp, slap, weird thumb grab affair with a muffled snort from each of them (which incidentally permitted each to take a surreptitious lungful of each others’ distinctive, masculine scents.)

Robin slumped back onto the settee, allowing Ilsa to accompany her old friend to the front door.

“So, come on…..I have at least a million questions and Ilsa is bound to want incredibly personal details in answer to them all. Let’s start with a simple one; how did you meet Corm?” Nikki settled herself, legs tucked up under her on the large armchair and grinned towards Robin.  
Ilsa arrived with clanging wine glasses and a chilled bottle of rose in time to hear Robin explaining his fateful allocation of the job in Strike’s office; the case and his subsequent agreement to stay on an additional week to see the case through.

“Yeah! That’s why he asked you!” Ilsa sniggered into her glass having poured and handed glasses to the other two.

Nikki took a mouthful and pointed with her glass, “So he agreed to keep you on before you broke up with your guy?”

Robin nodded and went on to offload about his and Jo’s deteriorating relationship, and the whole Shaz debacle.  
Nikki and Ilsa listened and made the appropriate comments, and reassured him that their spare room was his for as long as he needed it, as long as he chipped in for food and a nominal amount for bills etc they insisted on not asking for ‘rent’.  
Ilsa’s practical explanation being that the sooner he saved up some money for a deposit the faster he’d be out of their hair!

Robin was shown upstairs with his small case by Nikki and took the opportunity of using the loo before going back to join the ladies.  
He could hear soft voices as he reached halfway down the stairs.  
“Did you see that though? Corm NEVER, I mean N-E-EVER touches people willingly….and that little finger flicker thing….I mean!”

“I know….and thank fuck he’s ended it with Twatface Charlie Boy!”

Robin purposefully cleared his throat and heard hasty shushing and giggling as he rejoined the pair.  
A pleasant evening was passed by all - a couple of episodes of a box set comedy, a further shared bottle of wine and some hastily prepared pasta and then Robin undressed and slipped into the relative comfort, and definite security of the guest bed belonging to a couple of newly made lesbian friends.

On Sunday Robin went out for a run to clear his head, and to wake his system up a bit - running (not jogging…..Robin ran hard and fast) was always a release for him. It helped him with sexual frustration as well as his thoughts in general.   
The fact that the swarthy features of his boss kept invading his thoughts was a definite distraction as he made laps of one of the nearby London parks, but building up a healthy sweat was definitely helpful.

Cormoran had spent the day organising his possessions, such as they were, in his new abode.   
He went and did a larger shop at Tescos - he now had cupboards and cooking facilities as well as a reasonable sized fridge and small freezer - and also took the opportunity of throwing a couple of new towels and a new bedding set in with his various groceries.  
He was still using the camp bed until his mattress arrived, but by the time he settled back to watch some football highlights on TV he was feeling rather settled.

On a whim he sent a text to Robin:  
C : Everything OK over with the Herberts? They haven’t turned you have they?

To his delight Robin answered with a series of emojis and a saucy retort:  
R : It would take more than a pair of kind hearted lesbians to turn me...even though I am still incredibly lost and vulnerable!

The winky face thing at the end was ridiculously erotic somehow and despite his best intentions Strike found himself tapping out a reply:  
C : Vulnerable is how they get you, pal! Have they forced all your secrets out of you yet?

R : Not ALL of them…..just enough to maintain an aura of mystery. But thanks for sorting this for me. I really appreciate it. You had a quiet day?

Strike was thrilled - Robin was asking a question to extend their little interplay. He wondered where Robin was in the house. It was about 10pm. There was a chance he was either texting from the living room, or maybe from bed.

C : Pretty busy actually, sorting out the flat, although luckily most of the big move only involved a flight of stairs. How about you?

Robin had emitted a soft little hum of pleasure on seeing the message from is boss - he was asking a question back meaning he wanted their little texting session to continue a little bit longer.   
He had decided to give Ilsa and Nikki a little alone time and had taken himself up to his room with a mug of tea and a KitKat, his phone, and a book which Nikki had said was a ‘must read’, and was indeed rather enjoyable.

But messaging with Strike was more fun.

He considered whether he should open the video call option rather than continue typing, but maybe that was a step too far, and anyway, watching the little ‘Cormoran in typing’ thingie was a bit thrilling for him, so there was the tiniest, faintest possibility that it was similarly exciting for Strike - especially having overheard the little conversation between Ilsa and Nikki the previous evening.

R : Not much. Had a good session with Ilsa going through what I might need to do to sort things out between me and Jo, which was a bit depressing but Nikki made flapjacks and mojitos, so that helped cheer me up again.

He’d added a winky sticking out tongue emoji this time that made Strike giggle a little as he squirmed himself more comfortably in his chair and took a slug of his bottled beer.  
C : FLAPJACKS! You’d better bring at least one into the office tomorrow for me! I’m broken hearted and lonely too...make sure you remind them.

Robin smiled at the comment.   
Hmmm, reminding me that you’re single too Strike, yeah….subtle!

R: OK, I’ll snaffle one out for you. I can bring it at about 10 with coffee if you like? Will that fit in with your deliveries?

C : Sounds perfect. Mattress is being delivered between 8 and 12.

R : Does this mean you’ll need a hand lugging it up to your place?

Chin scratchy emoji added.  
Cute!

Oh Jesus Strike! Get a fucking grip!

He’s already fucking gorgeous, and smells like amazing, and completely out of bounds.

But he’s also single…..and so was he…..and gay men were allowed no strings attached hook ups….at least he assumed they still were!

C : We’ll see….either way I’d better let you get some sleep. See you tomorrow.

R : You will. Night.

Both men toyed with their fingers over their phone screens, trying to think up a suitable further comment to prolong the interaction...but failed.

Dreams of the other would have to suffice, although Robin’s temporary double bed was far more suited to the manner both chose of welcoming in sleep and he was able to splay himself face down, legs splayed on the bed, grinding into his palm and stifling his grunts into a pillow as he came across his handily placed face towel. 

Strike removed his prosthesis and said goodnight to it as he propped it within reach and had to blot out the rustling of the sleeping bag he was cocooned within on the narrow camp bed as his fist delivered a furious paced relief to the erection that he’d been nursing throughout the text conversation with his secretary.  
As he grunted and sprayed across his fist and belly he swore and panted.  
“You can’t have him you horny tosser!”

Both men needed to clean their bodies and thoughts before they were able to shut their eyes and sleep.

On Monday morning Strike was up, showered and dressed awaiting the delivery of his mattress, and also the arrival of Robin.   
He used the time to look back through some evidence, including a disc of CCTV footage that he’d managed to wrangle out of the DI in charge of the investigation - he seemed a bit lack-lustre about the whole thing, but then again he’d already investigated it once and come to his conclusion.

He had supped his way through 3 mugs of his favoured creosote tea, 4 rounds of toast slathered with butter, a Twix and 8 cigarettes by the time he heard the sound of foot steps on the metal stairs.

Robin was greeted by the now familiar fug of exhaled cigarette smoke emanating from the inner office doorway - it made the whole act of entering feel like being part of some cheesy space mission show!  
Strike was relaxing back against the arms of his desk chair, one of his beautifully warm and eye crinkled smiles on his face - a face that looked rested, neatly ‘stubble shaved’ and dare he think it, pleased to see him?  
It could just have been the prospect of flapjack though….infact, knowing Cormoran it was!

“You brought the good stuff?” Strike grinned.  
Yeah….it was flapjack!

Robin delved into his courier bag and waggled a greaseproof paper wrapped hefty chunk of the syrupy flavoured flapjack, which Robin had been incredibly impressed by the previous evening.

“Shall I put the kettle on?” Robin wandered across and made to pick up Strike’s slightly chipped mug just as his boss reached out to check whether he had indeed finished the last mouthful.  
Their hands somehow entwined for a brief, perfect moment, causing all manner of turmoil to both before the moment was interrupted by the intercom buzzer signifying someone down at the exterior door.  
“Tha’s my delivery,” Strike sniffed, somehow not fully disentangling his fingers from Robin’s long, slender ones.

“Yeah…..I’ll go sign for it shall I?” Robin noticed that Strike was being what appeared purposefully slow at allowing Robin to pick up his empty mug, but he also realised that he was being equally shit at allowing Strike to pick up his mug himself.

Hand sex…….handsie? (was that the manual version of footsie?)

With a sniff and a slight shake of his head Strike forced himself to grip the empty cup and pull it and his hand away from Robin’s.  
“If you wouldn’t mind….you’re a bit quicker on the stairs! Just gimme a shout and I’ll come and help you with it. Lord knows how we’ll get it up into that attic though!” he smirked and went to stand, presumably to take the cup to the kitchen as Robin removed his jacket before jogging down the curled stairway and greeting a rather po faced delivery man.

“Delivery for Strike,” he handed a clipboard across to Robin who dutifully squiggled his signature whilst the man returned to the van and brought a significantly smaller box across to the pavement.  
“It’s supposed to be a mattress!” Robin regarded the tall, slim box.  
The driver shrugged; like he gave an actual fuck; before returning to his van.

“Need a hand?” Strike’s voice sounded from the top of the stairs, but stepped back as Robin appeared balancing a box which looked significantly too small to contain a mattress on his shoulder. He was already up to Crowley’s landing.  
“It’s easier to manoeuvre…..you sure you ordered a mattress?” he asked.   
Strike couldn’t help but notice that his shirt had become untucked at the waist of his flat fronted, grey trousers revealing a sliver of creamy, hairless skin.

“Definitely! Surely that is not a fucking mattress?” he looked slightly perplexed, twitching his already crooked lips into an even more extreme puzzled pout, causing Robin to chuckle involuntarily and the box on his shoulder to wobble precariously.

“Ooops, shall I……?” Robin motioned to the other door off the office landing and Strike nodded, moving in front of him to awkwardly turn the handle then press himself mostly out of the way so that Robin and the box could go through and mount the stairs up to his flat.

Robin had a weird, giddy sensation in his belly as he went up the narrow staircase which hadn't been helped by brushing himself against Strike's pleasingly firm body on the landing.  
The room located immediately at the top seemed so ridiculously ‘Strike-like’ it seemed as if it had been designed with him in mind.

“Bedroom’s in the east wing!” the burly voice behind him was louder than Robin expected, but he followed the direction.

“Hmmm!” he stated having placed the box onto the slatted wooden bedframe, “Well, it’ll be easy to keep clean!” he grinned, glancing around and taking in the tidiness and neatly folded selection of what looked like t shirts in a partially open drawer.

Strike rolled his lips and huffed a snort of laughter from the other side of the bed.  
“It perfectly suits my needs and it’ll hopefully be a damn sight more comfortable than a fucking camp bed,” he quirked an eyebrow and nodded towards the box, “At least it will be if this is actually a mattress!”

Robin located the end of the box and ripped off the tape revealing a polythene roll of white. “You might be in luck!” he offered, turning the box and inviting Strike to view the contents.

“Grab hold then,” Strike gruffly ordered, and once Robin had the closed end held firmly he took hold of the polythene and tugged, emitting a grunt that Robin stored away…..for later, in private!

He managed to get the thing part way out of the box, it had clearly been vacuum packed within an inch of its life to get it in.

“FUCKin’ hell!”

Robin sniggered at their almost Keystone Cops attempt, briefly loosing grip on the box, causing Strike to step backwards.   
“Sorry, sorry….OK, got it again,” he said and flexed his biceps as Cormoran gave a second hefty tug at the plastic covered white, cottony roll.

“Bloody hell fire,” Strike gasped, “How fuckin’ impossible is this?”

Robin chuckled further, this time in an attempt to cover up the whimper he almost gave when Cormoran blew his unruly hair from his damp forehead and flexed his neck.

“Stop laughing! We are not inept!” Strike laughed, flashing one of his ridiculously sexy, off centred grins directly towards Robin who was now laughing fairly loudly.

“Oh my God, this is giving me flashbacks,” he giggled.

Strike arched an eyebrow, “Dare I ask?”

“Just Jo….he had a phase of wearing really tight jeans…...trying to get ‘em off when you…..you know….really want them off….” Robin was blushing but, Cormoran’s reaction was one of amusement and his shoulders were shaking as he cleared his throat.

“Come on, Ellacott, get a grip, literally, and stop thinking about your EX boyfriend’s tight pants,” and with a final, almighty tug the plastic bag parted company from the box.

Once unrolled but still in its plastic covering in was the approximate length of the bed frame and both men regarded each other with a shrug.  
“Cut it open? Reckon it’ll blow up like one of those dinghies you see in cartoons?” Strike suggested, fiddling in his pocket and locating a small penknife.

“One way to find out!” Robin replied, he’d located a small leaflet which was included in the box - apparently it was indeed a double sized mattress which would return to it’s correct size once the packaging was removed, and in approximately half an hour.

The plastic removed they watched silently as the thing gradually started expanding, rather like a noiseless airbed being filled.  
“Job done!” Strike stated, “Now….where’s that flapjack I was promised?”

Twenty minutes and two mugs of tea later both men were whisking crumbs away - Strike from his shirt and beard, Robin from his desk and computer keyboard as he whipped efficiently through email enquiries and junk which always accumulated over the weekend.

“ROBIN?” the louder than usual shout came from the inner office.

“Yep?” Robin appeared at the doorway to find Strike in the process of replacing the phone receiver.

“Can you drive?” Strike asked and smiled as Robin nodded and shrugged, “We’ve got a lead, up in Barrow, but we need to do it asap….I’ve looked at train times and costs….car’s the only option, I was wondering if…..I might be OK with an automatic..…”

Robin interjected, guessing the line of Strike’s thoughts, “I can drive you….a hire car’ll be twenty times cheaper than trains. Do you want me to look into something now?”

Cormoran nodded and sighed, “Yeah….please, that’d be great. You sure you don’t mind giving up your day….and….night? I don’t think I’d be comfortable your driving all that way there and then back again without a decent break inbetween.”

“It’s no problem….I think we’ve established I have nothing else to occupy me in the evenings!” Robin quipped, he was heading back towards the outer office and paused, wincing at the comment he’d made and how it might have come across, “Not that I…...I meant….I’ll look up hire cars,” he wrinkled his nose and bit his lip as he swivelled on his heels and muttered under his breath back to his own desk.

Behind his own desk Strike couldn’t help but smile; he couldn’t help that his tummy performed a couple of flippy movements at the thought of pretty much a full day in a car beside Robin...and then a hotel together.

Oh fuck…..shit he’d have to keep this mega professional!

No alcohol...that might be helpful….and he needed to pack his snuggest boxers…..they might help keep his anatomy in check.

From the outer office he heard Robin’s raised voice, “Shall I look at somewhere cheap to stay too? See if I can get it booked now and save hassle?”

Ever practical Robin - this would be fine.   
Practical, calm, professional Robin would make this easy and non sexual and…..oh surely he could resist him?

He was a grown man….they both were…..Robin was all grown up….and manly….and, shit this wasn’t helping!

“Yeah, that’d be great - something cheap and cheerful, preferably with a carvery attached!” he shouted and flicked his computer screen quickly onto a set of images of the murdered model Lula Landry in order to try and quell his raging thoughts about a scenario involving him and Robin and the possibility of ‘only one bed’......Christ he was horny!


	8. There was only one room!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Road trip - bags of sweeties to slot into Robin's mouth....  
> Arriving in Barrow late and Strike's belly takes priority over check in........oh dear!  
> Our boys share a meal, Strike discovers Robin wears contacts.....and then glasses.....and in head canon he has a glasses kink!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Radio 4 programme about computer games is real! I KNOW!!!

Just before 2pm they were on the road.   
Robin had diverted to Nikki and Ilsa’s to pack a few items from his limited stock available (spare pants and socks, a t shirt, his toiletries and a casual shirt) and had swung by to collect the rather nicely kitted out Skoda he’d hired.  
Strike’s initial raised eyebrow had been instantly quashed as Robin explained the logic - hiring a car for just 2 days to go a fairly long distance meant they were taking advantage of the free tank of fuel supplied. The tank in the larger vehicle was larger and held more, and it was also more fuel efficient than the smaller cars offered according to Robin. Strike knew nothing about cars, so bowed to his secretary’s judgement…..it was also rather luxurious inside and had enough legroom for even his enormous size to be catered for in comfort! 

Strike had tossed a battered army kit bag in the boot alongside Robins smart, wheeled suitcase and had made a sound of complete delight when Robin tossed him a handful of bags of sweets to be in charge of.  
“Sorry, but it’s my downfall when I’m driving,” he had grinned, “I love a sweetie, especially those,” and he nodded towards the already opened bag of Percy Pigs.

“Good choices!” Cormoran remarked stacking the bags of Wine Gums, Werther's Originals, Mint Imperials and Percy Pigs on his lap and deciding he would opt for one of the already opened gummy sweets himself. “Right,” he slurped, “Head north and we’ll see how we go.”

Robin nodded, adjusted his seat a fraction more and pulled out into the traffic, quickly locating the motorway and taking advantage of the automatic driving option on the vehicle.  
Strike was intrigued and Robin calmly explained how it all worked - how he could set a distance between the vehicle in front making the car automatically slow down and brake if necessary, and also the speed restrictor which proved handy throughout a long stretch of 50 mph road works.

They chatted a little about the case and the lead they were following up.   
Robin asked about a few of the pieces of evidence and they discussed how they slotted together, ruling out some of the suspects and keeping others very much in the fray.   
Robin would occasionally slap his lips together to signify he wanted a sweet to be slotted between them, and Strike took his role of sugary treat provider very seriously, although on one occasion he’d not ‘delivered’ a wine gum accurately enough, meaning he had to give an extra nudge of his finger, resulting in the very tip being licked along with the end of the orange sweet.  
Robin had side glanced at Strike; there was a soft blush beneath his facial hair, and he was biting his lip. 

“Could do with a break for a pee,” he’d announced, breaking the palpable tension in the car, and once at the services Robin had agreed to stand in the long line for coffees while Strike visited the loo, swapping over as Robin waited for their drinks, thus avoiding a possible side by side lavatory encounter that would have made urination impossible for them both.

Back on the road Robin flicked on the radio and to Strike’s delight tuned to Radio 4.   
He heard the soft harrumph from the man beside him and flicked his head, “Sorry….erm, would you prefer something else? I usually like an Audible book when I’m travelling, but I’m halfway through my current one - bit unfair to force that on you!”

Strike’s eyes shone, “This is absolutely fine. What are you reading...or listening then?”

Robin grimaced a little, “Honestly, I’m working my way through the Raymond Chandler Marlowe stuff…..but I was doing that before I started working for you,” he hastily added not wishing to come across as a complete nerd; although given that they were currently listening to a feature on radio 4 about people who play video games featuring their dead relatives and friends (and which Strike had actually turned up fractionally!) that ship might have sailed!

They continued in silence, only punctuated by the odd tut, or nod, or grunt of agreement at the slightly monotone but rather uniquely interesting narration on the topic which up until that point neither man had given any consideration to.

The news headlines prompted Strike to check the Satnav eta.  
“We’ve still got a couple of hours to go. You want another break? Maybe grab some food now?” he suggested, taking the opportunity of staring at Robin’s focused expression as he navigated through lanes of traffic in order to reach their exit onto the next stage of the journey.

It was now 6pm, he’d driven for two, almost two hour stints, although one had been stuck in traffic jams and roadworks meaning they hadn’t covered many miles.  
“I’m OK for a bit, maybe get onto the last stretch towards the hotel and find something?” he suggested, flicking his gaze sideways and finding Cormoran’s green eyes piercing his own for a second before he dragged them away.

“Yeah, no problem…...sweet? Although you’ve had the last Percy Pig about 40 miles ago,” he grinned and made a soft moan as Robin played along and stuck out his lower lip childishly.  
Christ he wanted to suck on that lip more than he wanted to suck on the Werther he was unwrapping!

“Go on then, a Werther’ll do as back up,” he said and opened his mouth obligingly for Cormoran to slot the small butterscotch sweet inside.  
He unwrapped a second for himself and bit down on it savagely as he tried not to observe Robin sucking and rolling his own sweet around his mouth.

A comedy show was now playing on the radio which both of them laughed along with - the humour was clever, intellectual based stuff and they giggled long before the punchlines were revealed, on one occasion Strike even flailed out a hand to slap against Robin’s left arm as he clearly made a connection to the direction the amusing anecdote was heading.  
When the show finished an hour later both had aching sides and jaws, but were definitely refreshed and hadn’t noticed that they’d made excellent time and were only twenty five minutes away from the hotel Robin had booked.

“Shall we just keep going and get to the hotel? There should be a Beefeater type place on the same site,” Robin sniffed, wiping his eyes and blasting the window open for a few minutes to refresh himself.

They’d left the motorway and were on quieter roads, but those came with their own issues - weird lighting, weendy-windy twists and turns and other idiot car drivers who often turned without indicating.  
Strike had been starting to nod off with the warm comfort of the vehicle; the blast of fresh air was welcome, as was the thought of hot food.  
“Sounds like a great idea,” he looked again at Robin’s face of concentration as he flicked his eyes between the road ahead and the SatNav. “Thanks again for this Robin….I appreciate it.”

Robin flashed a sincere smile towards him, “It’s no problem. Gives me something to do, keep my mind off the fact that I’m on the shelf!” His nose wrinkled a little and Strike had the feeling that he wasn’t as depressed about his broken love life as his words conveyed. 

He risked crossing the professional line, “You’ll find someone….I mean, if you want someone that is. You mentioned yesterday that Jo was your only real boyfriend…..might be an opportunity to try a few other options so to speak.”

Robin pouted his lips, “Not sure if that’s my style? Although to be fair, I’ve not got any experience of one night hook ups….and my one and only relationship wasn’t exactly sparkling if I’m honest,” he shrugged; the traffic lights on red gave him an opportunity to put the car into neutral and look over at his passenger.

Jesus his eyes were green….and dark….and incredibly easy to stare into at this proximity.

“Give it time…..and take it from someone who knows; if you go back it’ll never be the same; you need to stick to your guns….I should have done that fucking 14 years ago with Charles….would have saved an awful lot of agro!”   
Strike had never been this open and candid about anything in his personal life with Robin before.   
He wasn’t sure why he was doing it now. Maybe it was the time spent in easy companionship in the car together.

They pulled up in the car park of the Travelodge at a little after twenty to eight.  
“Oh fuck!” Robin exclaimed, rousing Strike from the slightly drooling nap he’d sunk into.  
He blinked and noticed the reason for Robin’s exclamation.  
A large coach was outside the main entrance with a number of rather silver haired old biddies pottering around and heaving themselves off the vehicle.  
Strike said what Robin was thinking, “Bloody hell, they’ll take hours booking in….and if we get behind them at the restaurant we’ll never get fed!”

Without a further word Robin selected a parking space closer to the pub style eating place and they got out and quickly clicked spinal columns back into place with a pleasing combination of snaps and crunches as they headed directly for the entrance.

“Two please, “ Strike commanded upon entry, and as the employee efficiently gathered menus and showed them to a pleasant table in a booth he immediately asked for a pint for himself and a gin and tonic for Robin.  
He noticed Robin’s slightly amused expression, “Sorry! Did you not want a drink? I’m parched and from experience in these places it’ll be ten minutes before someone comes to take our order and a further fifteen for them to arrive…..this way we get to order a second with food!”

“I’m not arguing; I’m taking notes!” Robin grinned before squinting at his watch, patting his pocket and standing up, “Just need to pop to the loo.”

Strike was able to take a couple of mouthfuls of his pint and rein in his wayward thoughts about how delectable his secretary’s arse looked as he walked away from him towards the gents before Robin returned, but he was greeted by a whole new level of turmoil when he ambled back to the table.

“You’re wearing glasses,” Strike stated, rather pointlessly, staring uncontrollably at the honey haired man as he slid into the booth opposite him.

“Erm...yeah….contacts usually, but I’ve had them in all day….air con in the car….they were itching like hell,” he explained, a little self conscious by the level of direct, piercing eye contact Cormoran was giving him.

Did he just gulp?  
It felt like he was mentally undressing him…..it was rather nice, and ever so slightly off putting when he realised that the merest movement and their knees would rub together under the table.

Strike was completely floored.   
Thank fuck he was sitting down….and thank fucking fuck there was a table covering the part of his anatomy that had reacted most strongly to the sight of Robin wearing a pair of slim, dark grey framed glasses.

He had a thing for glasses.  
If he started sucking on one of the arms he might sod propriety and drag the amber haired god across the table by his shirt collar.

Shit he needed to calm down.  
Gulping down half of his pint possibly wasn’t the best option, but it was the one he had at his disposal.

“What looks good?” Robin asked.

Did he ask that on purpose?  
Was that a little smirk?  
Oh shit, he’d just adjusted the frames…..with a single finger…..fuuuck…..that was so sexy!

“Everything,” Strike blurted out, his eyes and clenched fist betraying his attempts to remain calm in the face of what felt like torture.  
Robin gazed down at his menu, and then across into the flushed face and ridiculously dark eyes of his boss.

Jesus….this was dangerous ground.  
They’d be in the same hotel in a short while.   
Sleeping possibly next door to each other, or across a narrow corridor.

“Well, it’s a pretty comprehensive pub grub menu,” Robin stated, a belly full of sweeties and coffee suddenly seemed rather inadequate. His tummy growled loudly.  
Whatever ice needed breaking was suddenly shattered, and the two men laughed openly.

“Right! Whatever we order we’d better do it quick!” Strike grinned as his shoulders continued to shake. “I’m having a mixed grill.”  
Robin’s embarrassment at the sound of his stomach rumbling had faded by the time the waitress arrived.   
He added a chicken breast covered with cheese and bacon and chips to the order, and Strike added a further round of drinks.  
“You OK if I nip out for a nicotine fix?” he asked.  
Robin nodded, glad of a little respite from the overwhelmingly masculine aroma emanating from Strike; although he did realise that when he returned it would be with an added dollop of tobacco smoke rolled into the mix…..it might finish him off!

The meals were hot, well cooked and plentiful, which was far more important to both men than fancy garnishes and the sort of flavoured foams which it transpired both Charles and Jo had been fans of when eating at the fancier, and more trendy establishments they favoured.  
“I just like a simple meal, cooked well, made with decent ingredients that doesn’t cost the earth!” Robin stated, sitting back and dabbing his mouth with a napkin as Strike finished swirling a piece of mushroom around the various meaty juices on his plate.  
He nodded and grunted, “And can we throw in chips that are not arranged like pieces of Jenga….I mean what the fuck is that all about? Chips, are just chips….they come from potatoes which are round!”

Robin laughed “Exactly! I can’t see the point of trying to make foods regular shaped. It implies that there is some poor bastard peeling and peeling in the kitchen, whittling a bloody carrot down to a matchstick!”

Desserts were considered, but full bellies and a couple of drinks was making both realise how tired they were - Robin due to concentrating on driving, and Strike due to concentrating on not lunging at Robin and licking his neck whilst he was driving.  
Strike therefore paid the bill and wandered across to the now empty of OAPs hotel foyer where Robin had gone ahead.

“What’s up?” Strike asked, seeing Robin hunched on the counter, both hands clutching at his head in abject mortification.

“Oh this can’t be happening,” he softly banged his forehead against the oak effect MDF.

A Travelodge employee appeared from the inner office, looking as abjectly horrified as Robin, a manager in a suit in tow.

“I’m so sorry. It’s just the check in time on your booking passed at 7pm,” the suited man stated, shrugging and addressing Robin, but looking fractionally less calm as he noticed Strike’s massive and imposing presence.

“Robin? Or…?” he regarded the hotel staff when it was evident Robin was unable to either look at him or do anything except repeatedly mumble, ‘shit, shit, shit.’

The suited man pulled himself up to his full 5ft 7 and addressed Cormoran, “As my colleague has explained to Mr Ellacott here, the deadline for check in on the rooms you booked was 7pm. If you are going to arrive later you need to inform us and we would have happily reserved them, but without that notification I’m afraid he have allocated one of your rooms….a large party needed over night stays at the last minute due to a broken down coach earlier in the day….”  
The man’s voice trailed off as Strike tried to process the information.

“So, you’re telling me you’ve given away one of the rooms we booked for this evening? And you have nothing else available?” Cormoran inhaled deeply and paced away from the counter before returning and continuing. “So the room that is available….does it have two beds by any chance?”  
The lower status employee, whose name badge said that their name was Dev, chimed in, hoping to be helpful, “It does Sir. There is a double bed and a second, single is available in all of our rooms.”

Robin was still head butting the counter, Strike was purposely avoiding staring at his backside and both had all manner of emotions whizzing around like a washing machine on a final spin.  
Strike laid a hand briefly on Robin’s shoulder, causing him to peer up at him (achingly gorgeously!)

“We haven’t got much choice - we can’t exactly drive anywhere else, you’ve had 3 double gin and tonics!”

Robin blinked, “Doubles? No wonder I’m feeling a bit…..I’m sorry Cormoran, I should have read the booking details more carefully...I…”

Strike shook his head and smiled at him as he stood up and grasped his head in his forearms, “Don’t beat yourself up. I didn’t ask about it either did I?”

Robin paced and stared out of the window facing the car park, “I could sleep in the car, you have the room here….”

Strike walked to him, grasped him rather firmly by the shoulders and interrupted him, “You are NOT fucking sleeping in the car! Robin you’ve driven for hours today, and you’re doing the same tomorrow….so no offence but I’d rather you have a decent night's sleep. We’ll get this room….and if you feel completely bad about it and want to suffer I’ll agree to you taking the single bed and I’ll force myself to take the double!”  
The smirk which met Robin’s gaze was so fucking delicious.   
It took all of his strength to resist crushing those uneven, stubble framed lips to his own.

“OK,” he nodded, “I’m knackered now….I’ll sleep anywhere!” he stated and turned to grasp his small, wheeled suitcase by its handle as Strike picked up the keycard from the counter.  
“Breakfast is between 8 and 11,” trilled the manager.  
“And I’m assuming that’s included,” Strike stated, a rather sexy, commanding tone in his voice which did something to Robin’s belly.  
The manager shushed the more menial Dev who had started to reel off the standard response to the question, “Of course….as a gesture of goodwill. Sleep well."


	9. It's getting hot in here......so take off all your clothes!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So.....there was only one room.....yadda yadda (who can EVER resist this scenario?!?)  
> In this room I have also incorporated a feature of a glass walled bathroom - this is based on a place I have stayed at - the walls are just about opaque enough for decency, but you can so work out what's going on!  
> Also, Robin and Strike find the same things amusing and adorable and frustrating and unfathomable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baby Bear bed and Daddy Bear bed......I couldn't resist!

A lift whisked them up to the third floor; Robin slumped dejectedly against the mirrored interior. Strike ached to make him smile again…..it really wasn’t his fault.   
“Free breakfast is definitely a positive to take out of the situation,” Cormoran rumbled softly, not looking at his secretary directly, but able to take in his huff of recognition in the mirrors.  
“Suppose so. And I’ve halved the hotel budget too!” There was finally a small lift to Robin’s lips which made Strike’s heart feel lighter instantly.

“There you go! It’s only a night….could be worse. I mean, imagine if you were some curvaceous female that I’d employed!” Cormoran arched his eyebrows and blinked slowly at Robin’s reflection.  
His heart flipped when Robin broke into a throaty laugh.

He liked seeing Robin laugh.  
He liked making Robin laugh.

“Would that be worse?” Robin asked, still chuckling as the doors to the lift slid open and they followed the signs towards room 312, “I mean, given that you’re a gay man, presumably a woman would feel fairly safe around you!”

Strike swallowed the retort he instantly thought of, and instead decided on continuing the humorous tone, “They may well feel safe, but I still wouldn’t like to risk them seeing me in my pants…..or following me in the bathroom coming to that!”

Robin groaned, but giggled, “Is it too late to back out and go for the car option?”

Strike shook his head and opened the door to their room (THEIR room….a room they would be sharing! ALL NIGHT!) “Yup, too late now….awww, look at the Baby Bear bed for you!”

The room already had the small, single bed made up as well as the double. It was presumably usually a sofa.   
There was very little else in the room except for a wall unit thing which in these places usually contained a tea making tray, iron, safe and spare pillow.  
Robin entered the room first and sniffed at the limited space between the two beds.  
“Hmmmm,” he stated, “Cosy!....and not too far away from the Daddy Bear bed!”

Both men laughed and exhaled deeply as they glanced at the weirdly frosted wall which separated the room from the bathroom.

“Is that…...glass?” Strike asked, opening the opaque door and popping his head inside.  
Robin gave a snort of both horror and hysteria - although you couldn’t make out specific features it was possible to make out the overall shape of his burly boss behind the wall.

“Why the hell would anyone want a glass wall around a bathroom?” Strike asked, shaking his head, “Fuckin’ architects!”

Robin however had flopped backwards on his small, but actually very comfortable bed and had toed off his trainers.  
“Well, at least there won’t be a risk of one of us barging in on the other!” he stated, still grinning and then looking around the room.

“True! You OK?” Strike asked, moving over to his own bed after hanging his large coat on the back of the door.

Robin nodded and wrinkled his lip, “When this isn’t a bed what do you reckon it’s purpose is?”

Strike plumped all 4 of the pillows on his bed into a pile and sank back against them with a pleasing sigh, his feet resting on the little drapy thing across the base of the duvet.  
“I assume it’s a settee,” he suggested, noticing that if he didn’t remain on this side of the bed he would be dangerously close to Robin in his bed.

Robin nodded in agreement, “You’d think that….but where would your feet go if you were sitting on it?”

Strike rolled across and peered down, there was barely a foot of space between the little bed and his own.  
He sniffed and pursed his lips, “Good point!”

“And….it’s shit for watching the TV because I can’t actually see it at all from here!” Robin continued flailing a hand in the direction of the corner of the room where there was a wall mounted flat screen TV.

“It might be on one of those bracket things that pops out,” Cormoran suggested.

“It’d have to pop out a bloody long way!” Robin stated, and then rolled himself off the bed, crouching on his raised toes to unzip his case and start arranging some of his things.  
As he took his toiletries bag through to the bathroom Strike sighed as he was able to see the level of privacy, or rather lack of it, created by the weirdly opaque, glass wall.  
“Fuuuck,” he hissed, thinking that he’d have to turn the other way when Robin was using it, and hoping that he would do the same.

He turned his attention to his own bag and gave silent thanks for the fact that he’d added pyjamas bottoms to the t shirt, shirt, sweater, underwear and socks as well as his own toiletries bag and pain relief gel and drying powder for his limb.

Robin came back and took the opportunity of setting up the tea and coffee tray, filling the miniature kettle with fresh water, boiling it and then replacing it with fresh.  
“People piss in these!” he stated as Strike’s expression portrayed his bafflement.

“Who pisses in a kettle? There are two mugs that would be perfectly acceptable before resorting to the kettle!” he retorted before taking his own toiletries bag through into the glass shrine. “Anyway, I’m having a shower and a slash.”

Robin nodded and glanced briefly over his shoulder noticing that Strike had several items of clothing bundled in his hand as well as his brown, suede effect (at some point in the past anyway!) wash bag.

Robin was having a slight panic regarding his sleeping attire.   
He had not put in anything suitable for sleeping in - he usually slept naked - so his boxers would have to suffice.  
He pulled out his laptop computer and checked the company email for a couple of updates and future appointments as he heard Strike moving about and glanced the two legged silhouette standing over the lavatory change into a one and a two thirds legged silhouette.

He was now clearly - well, semi clearly - naked behind that glass panel.

Robin heard the sound of the shower being activated, which from the sound of it was at least a decent water pressure.

Christ his boss was broad!  
His back and shoulders were defined behind the opaque, aqua coloured panel as he balanced infront of the sink. 

Robin knew that he should avert his eyes, but in all honesty he didn’t want to.  
Those three double gin and tonics were having a decidedly delayed impact on his faculties.  
Fortunately, at least for the sake of propriety, the actual shower section of the room was within a more traditionally walled section, so Robin sighed and returned his attention to the email list.

In the shower room Strike had been slightly side tracked by the sight of his and Robin’s toiletries bags sitting one either side of the sink, and their toothbrushes similarly aligned.  
It looked so sweet....and he grinned in a slightly sappy manner as he cleaned his teeth. He glanced, and then carefully moved items aside in Robin’s bag with his index finger.  
He gave a soft grunt at the sight of his shower gel and after shave, which were of a matching, mid to high end price range.   
There was a tube of facial moisturiser as well as a shaving gel, and with a further poke around he noticed there were also condoms and a couple of sachets of lube, but having spat out the minty foam from his mouth he could also see that they had that ‘caked on white gunk’ appearance which showed that they hadn’t been added simply for the trip.  
Strike wasn’t sure if he was disappointed, but he hopped the couple of steps over to the shower, which thankfully had a shelf which would serve as a handle for him, and, he was pleased to notice, had actual proper tiled walls.  
He hopped carefully under the stream of water and used the generic shower product attached to the wall to lather himself and sluice away thoughts of Robin’s mesmeric blue-grey eyes and edible looking arse.   
Visions of the green suit flushed away behind his lowered lashes and he ended with an icy cold blast from the faucet in order to be able to limp safely out to the closed toilet in order to sit and dry off.

By the time he appeared in the bedroom he was dressed in a pair of blue, checked, flannel pyjama bottoms and a grey marl t shirt which looked like it had never seen an iron. He’d removed his leg and was hopping, using the wall and bed as additional balance, and upon reaching his bed he flopped backwards, emitting a throaty groan of relief.  
He glanced across at Robin who was engrossed in forming a suitable reply to an enquiry from a new client via email, his glasses once more resting on his nose and looking completely edible.

Robin had glanced up as Strike exited the bathroom but rapidly focused back on his emails - the sight of his boss with damp, naturally curling hair and wearing clothes that looked so soft he wanted to bury his face in them - meant that he needed to avoid looking, especially if he was going to be able to get himself into the same bathroom and shower without embarrassing himself….the laptop was doing a valiant job currently!

“Anything I need to sort out?” Strike asked as he scrolled through his own phone, organising his thoughts for their meeting with the lead the following day.

Robin hummed in response as he logged out and closed the computer, “Nah, just a possible new client, I’ve arranged a meeting later next week, sent it to your calendar and there are some bits of information and pictures in a folder I’ve called ‘Pom pom’....it’ll make sense when you see the pictures,” he added with an exaggerated wrinkle of his lips as Strike turned and gave him an endearingly baffled look.

“OK, well, we need to be at the lead’s address before 10 tomorrow, so I don’t know about you, but I’m knackered now….gonna take advantage of a bit of TV…..which I can see!....then sleep!” he grinned.

Robin stood up and moved across to his case, swiping up the tv remote en route and shouting an “Incoming!” before tossing to into Strike’s waiting grasp.  
He rummaged around and considered his options, tutting softly….oh well, maybe there would be a bath robe…..hopefully! 

Cormoran glanced over and noticed that Robin had nothing in his hands as he ventured into the shower room and became slightly side tracked by the thought that he could emerge either naked, or possibly still covered in water and draped in a towel….he spent several minutes considering which would be the most delicious before realising that the TV had paused on a programme about Cliff Richard.  
He hastily changed channel, especially as a way of diverting him from the outline of Robin behind the pale blue glass as he divested himself of his clothes.

Despite having located an amusing old comedy show Strike’s eyes were drawn back towards the shower room.  
He could make out the shape of Robin, could even see that he was standing, his legs slightly parted, at the sink.   
Jesus his shoulders were broad compared to his waist, and his legs were long and lithe.   
Oh God…..this was dangerous ground.

Inside the shower room Robin cleaned his teeth and stood, naked infront of the illuminated mirror. 

He could do this….he could sleep a metre away from his swarthy, sexy as shit boss.

It had been slightly alarming to see the prosthetic limb with shoe attached propped up against the sink basin, but even more alarming was his thought that his naked stump was beneath his pjs…..why the fuck was he finding THAT so sexy?

He could hear Strike clearing his throat in the adjacent room and groaned as he moved towards the shower. He made a further amused groan at the sight of several wet, shortish dark hairs scattered across the bottom of the shower cubicle and noticed with a smirk that the temperature of the shower was set to freezing cold.  
Flipping it to a more comfortable setting he stretched to grab his shower gel and dived under the torrent, lathering himself thoroughly and dragging his palms through his hair to scrub away thoughts of his boss being stood in the same position just less than half an hour ago.

Christ he was hard.

It would be so easy to let his hand linger a little more purposefully as he pulled back his foreskin and cleaned around his heavy sack.  
“No! That is not gonna help one bit!” he hissed, tilting his head and filling his mouth with water from the shower before spurting it, whale-like, out again.

After several more minutes of sluicing his body down he switched off the water and grabbed the first neatly folded towel available, working on the assumption that the one hung on the door hook was one which Strike had used.

No robes!

Damn, he would have to stick his boxers back on and walk past Strike to get under his bed covers…..putting his trousers back on would be too weird…..it would imply he was embarrassed and would potentially make Strike draw conclusions about his feelings…..or would it?

Oh Shite!   
He was seriously over thinking this now!  
He scrubbed at his hair with the towel having dried himself off.   
The mirror had steamed over and he was decidedly warm and he forgot about Strike’s limb catching it with his foot and knocking it over with a loud thump.

In the main room Strike had wriggled round and located a bottle of water from the hospitality tray.   
He was a little concerned about the fact that he’d left his leg in the bathroom and without it was a little scuppered in terms of moving around.  
He heard the water being shut off and heard Robin moving around. He tried incredibly hard to not glance over at the opaque wall, but the loud clatter from behind it, followed by a muffled, “Bugger!” which brought out Robin’s northern accent rather charmingly meant he had no choice.  
He could see a hunched silhouette scrabbling with what appeared to be three legs and a thrill fluttered in his belly at the thought that Robin was touching his fake limb.  
“Get a fucking grip you tosser,” he mumbled before shouting a little louder, “Everything OK?”

Robin’s voice came back a little cracked, “Yeah, sorry, I knocked over your leg. Do you want it in there with you?”

Strike smiled, “That’d be great actually, I’m a bit bed bound without it.”   
He then took a very definite intake of breath as Robin appeared, looking scrubbed and pink skinned and almost naked, holding his prosthetic as naturally as if it was a bottle of Champagne.

“Do you want it here?” he asked without a flicker of nuance.  
Strike however bit his lip and nodded as Robin propped the limb against the wall.

Jesus he was only wearing boxers.

Gorgeous, dark blue boxer shorts that gripped his backside in all the right places.

As if sensing his gaze Robin strode across to the wall unit where he draped his shirt and trousers over a hanger before moving to his bed, “Not a nightclothes kind of guy!” he stated, raising his eyebrows as little as he met Cormoran’s gaze.

“So I see….still, it’s fairly warm in here, you’re not in danger of catching your death!” Strike pulled his gaze back to the TV screen where thankfully Eddie and Ritchie were engaging in a hilariously violent scene involving a couple of frying pans which he used to disguise his slight whimper, turning it into a laugh as Robin slid under his bedcovers and picked up his phone.  
He issued a tut and puffed out his cheeks.

“Everything alright?” Strike asked, eyes remaining on the TV screen.

“Just Jo…..he thinks I’ve come on this trip to get back at him!” he rolled his eyes and glanced across at Strike’s recumbent form.

“Tell him to shove his head up his arse!” the swarthy man retorted and flashed a brief smile of compassion in Robin’s direction…..the glasses were back on, it was torture!

Thankfully Robin laughed at the comment, “I think I’ll just go with a radio silence rather than activate communication again. I’m setting my alarm, what time you doing yours?”  
It all felt rather cosy and domesticated, the pair of them almost side by side - well, they were side by side, just in separate beds - settling down to sleep, discussing wake up alarms.  
Strike gave a pleasurable sigh as he flicked the TV off and swiped up his own phone, “I’ll do mine for 7; it’s about 40 minutes to the lead’s address from here I think. That should give us time to grab breakfast and get sorted.”

Robin nodded and gave a close mouthed, ‘uh huh’ as he tapped on his phone, “I’ll do mine for ten past just in case we nod off again. Right, erm….goodnight Cormoran.”

“Yeah, goodnight Robin.”  
With a bed creaking shift he flicked off the light, leaving a soft glow from some car park lighting vaguely illuminating the room.

Both men drifted into sleep quickly, Robin woke a couple of hours later and found himself staring directly into the bed soft, slumbering face of Strike who had rolled and nestled himself, clutching around a pillow, as far over on his mattress as possible, meaning that his deep, regular breaths were close enough to Robin for him to be able to feel their exhalations.  
He spent several, blinking moments, staring at the man.   
His bicep was full and bulging against the fabric of his t shirt, and the dark hair on his arms nestled next to his beard was so erotic.  
Robin could feel himself stiffening beneath his boxers and dragged his gaze away, muttering an aggressive, “No! Not a good idea,” before twisting around, kicking one leg out of the duvet and facing the opposite direction.

Strike woke up at around 3am according to his phone.   
He was panting and sweating profusely and the air in the room felt like it was more akin to a sauna.  
“Bloody old biddies. They’ve cranked the fucking thermostats up for ‘em,” he mumbled and then remembered his room mate. 

Glancing over he sighed rather theatrically at the sight of Robin splayed on his back, his chest and one leg exposed with only a small piece of dark fabric covering him.  
One hand rested flat on his sculpted abs the other was cast above his head…...he could advertise pretty much anything in that pose Strike considered.

He dragged his own t shirt over his head, hoping it would cool him enough to reconsider sleep - a blissful dream involving him crawling into bed with the figure to his right would be rather pleasant - but even without the layer of cotton it was still too warm.  
The only window in the room would mean him leaning over and possibly disturbing Robin, but he could make out the white plastic box on the wall which presumably was a thermostat or air conditioning dial.

He could hop across there without his leg.  
What could go wrong with that idea?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There do be smuts next folks!


	10. *SMUT CHAPTER - man on man blow job and hand job*       No.....it's good!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning as promised -although I would say this is tender and not completely explicit man on man sex.  
> Robin and Cormoran fell asleep in the same room but separate beds, and in the early hours Robin has been woken by Strike's shouts.  
> Obviously he goes to Cormoran's aid....and then of course he has to help as much as he possibly can to take his boss's mind off the pain of his injury.......

“FUCKING HELL! Ohhhh BOLLOCKS!”

Robin was awoken by the flowery language and other muffled and not so muffled noises in the room.  
Twisting slightly, as he found he’d fallen to sleep on his back, he saw Strike’s empty, rumpled bed, and what looked like his discarded t shirt.

The noises continued and he assumed by the change in tone and muffled nature that his boss had stuffed something into his mouth to try to stifle them.  
“Cormoran?” he asked, “What’s going on?”

“OH FUCK! Nothing, go back to sleep, ahhhh, SHIT it!”

Robin obviously ignored the instruction and leapt up to see Cormoran rolling on the limited floor space, naked from the waist up and moving his back and shoulders gingerly.  
He swooped down and without waiting for a response stated, “Give me your hand, let’s get you up.”

Despite his hatred of people fussing over his disability, on this occasion Strike acquiesced. He allowed Robin to grasp him firmly by the forearm, he held the more slender, paler arm of Robin in a similar manner and with a brief, but effective ‘Yup’ they managed to fairly easily get Strike up and back onto the bed where he instantly arched and twitched his back, hissing in a string of inventive swearwords.

“Sleep walking?....or hopping?” Robin suggested with a wry grin, which made Strike laugh out loud.

“Not quite….trying to turn the heat down,” he explained gesturing vaguely towards the wall.

Robin seemed to notice the temperature of the room and blew his breath upwards to dislodge and waft his ruffled hair off his forehead.  
“Yeah, it is a bit care home hot isn’t it?” and with that he went over and adjusted the temperature gauge and then cranked open the small window a fraction.

All the while Strike’s eyes followed him.  
His boxer shorts had done that thing of riding up his bum a bit, and the leg parts had hitched up when he’d bent down to help him up off the floor…...and his thighs were fucking gorgeous…...and the front of those boxers was definitely promising!

Robin moved around the small room trying desperately not to stare at the sight of his boss’s chest…. and back....and shoulders, which seemed to be reflected in the window and mirror and tv screen and wherever he looked.

Christ he was well built!

He wanted to bury his face in the thick, swarthy hair covering his chest.  
He wanted to lick his tongue down the trail of dark hairs leading from his belly button down below the waistband of his pyjama bottoms.

When he steeled himself and finally looked directly at Cormoran it was to the sight of his boss wincing and grimacing in pain.  
“Leg?” he asked, matter of factly? “Anything I can get you?”

Strike wrinkled his nose and shook his head, “Not my leg, unusually! I lost my balance and landed on that,” he pointed towards Robin’s small wheeled suitcase. “Hit by back on the handle part I think, it’s fucking killing me.” He twisted a single hand around and made contact with the skin of his back, giving a further hissed explosion of swearwords.

“Let me look,” Robin stated, again with such a calm, ‘I’m doing this so just don’t argue’ manner that Strike found himself bending forwards slightly as Robin hitched one knee onto the mattress, his lightly haired thigh just inches away from Strike’s own, flannel covered one.  
“Oooh, yeah, I can see a red mark. You’ll get a nasty bruise. You got any of the pain gel stuff you use on your leg?” he asked, standing back up, hands on hips.

Strike was dimly aware that he was expected to say something in response and managed to drag his gaze away from the wide shoulders, narrow waisted stance of Robin.   
“In my toiletries bag...yeah...good idea,” and he sighed, wiping a splayed palm across his face and scalp as Robin strode behind the glass wall and located the ibuprofen gel.

“Right, lie down.”

Robin wasn’t sure where his calm, business-like demeanour was coming from.   
Was he seriously offering to rub a silky gel onto the broad, sexy back of the half naked man he was supposed to be sharing a room with and more importantly, going to have to work with when they got up?

However, part of him considered that this actually felt like the most logical and natural thing in the world to be offering to do.

Cormoran’s head was spinning.  
Was Robin seriously offering to rub pain relief gel onto his back for him?

No surely not…..surely this was a pain induced hallucination, or dream?  
He surreptitiously tugged his own earlobe and pinched the skin tightly with his thumb nail.  
Nope…..not a dream….perfectly real!

“I can probably manage….” he stated, although even he could hear that it was the most half hearted and pathetic of suggestions.  
Robin even smirked and shook his head at him.

Oh god, putting his head on one side like that and glaring at him like he was a naughty schoolboy was not safe!  
Suddenly Strike had a rather urgent need to be facing away from his secretary, and so reluctantly flipped himself onto his belly and squirmed up the bed, arms crossed under his chin.

“I’ll be gentle,” Robin whispered and to their shared delight splayed his legs wide and knelt either side of Strike’s leg and a half on the mattress. “How much shall I use?”

Strike was considering the most accurate response would be to say, ‘the same amount as you use of lube’, but cleared his throat and said, “About an inch….but not a stingy inch.”

Robin smiled and squeezed out the clear gel, “I assume it’ll be cold,” he stated before firmly pressing his covered fingers directly onto the most reddened mark on Strike’s back.

The face down man arched a little, making his shoulder muscles ripple pleasingly and causing Robin to begin to doubt his ability to remain focused on pain relief for his boss whilst also ensuring he didn’t poke him in the arse with his rapidly stiffening cock!

“Oh God!” Strike hissed.

“Too hard?” Robin asked, quirking his lips and taking comfort in the fact that his inadvertent double entendre was masked from Strike!

“No…...it’s good,” the deep, baritone rumble of Strike’s voice seemed to reverberate through the mattress.

Robin splayed his hand a little wider and rubbed again across the firm, smooth skin of Strike’s back, spreading the soothing gel and warming the coolness a little.  
He leaned forwards more, resting the knuckles of his left hand on the mattress, just beside Strike’s hip, and started a more purposeful, lazy figure of eight action with his palm, covering the reddened section of skin, but widening the swirl of his palm gradually.  
Robin was mesmerised watching his own, pale hand against the darker skin of Cormoran.   
His broad back and shoulders meant that there was a beautiful wealth of skin to explore, and he found himself twitching his hips and thighs into his movements, glorying in the soft groans and growls emanating from the man beneath him.

From Strike’s point of view this new turn of events was in equal mixture heaven and turmoil.  
Robin’s hand moving across his skin was delicious.   
The gel really was acting to sooth the pain, but it had long since been overtaken by the dizzying effect of Robin leaning closer into his body and caressing much, much more of his back than had been injured by the suitcase handle.  
He could feel a tightening of Robin’s thighs against his own body, and a fractional rock of hips was making him pulse his own into the mattress - he told himself it was just to make it easier for Robin to ‘work’!

One particular stroke of Robin’s palm slipped slightly lower and his fingertips grazed over the swell of Strike’s buttocks beneath their soft, flannel covering. It caused Robin to gasp quickly and apologise, squirming as if to move away from their closeness.  
Without overthinking Cormoran loosened one hand and captured Robin’s leg, slipping his strong fingers behind his knee and squeezing it.  
“No,” he whispered, “Stay like that…..please.”

His voice was like warm honey flowing across gravel and Robin found himself instantly moving tighter against the other man’s body, both sharing more vocal gasps as skin once more connected, this time with both men sharing the touch.

Robin slid his other hand up to join his right and worked both hands across Cormoran’s back and shoulders, teasing his fingers into the slightly damp curls at the nape of his neck, and smiling as Strike responded with neck twitching and lip curling pleasure.  
Strike was now writhing his hips a little more forcefully against the mattress, the feeling of Robin's body pressing against him was glorious and, whatever the consequence of this was going to be, they would deal with it later.  
Right now Robin was panting and whimpering with every sweep of his hands across his back, the slender man also seemed to be glorying in the grasping, firm pressure of his hand at his knee and thigh, and Strike dragged him closer, emitting a loud and uncontrolled shout as Robin’s firm cock stroked against his backside.  
Layers of fabric separated them, but the feeling was nonetheless thrilling.

Robin was aware that his achingly hard cock was now rubbing purposefully against the cleft in Strike’s backside.   
Oh god it felt amazing.   
Just imagine how good it would feel without their clothes getting in the way?  
He fell forwards and was now pressing most of his belly and chest against the soft, warm skin of his boss.

FUCK!  
HIS BOSS!  
They were writhing about, semi naked on a bed….and he was his boss!

He made to move away but in a powerful and nimble display of strength and agility Cormoran grabbed him and twisted from beneath him, anchoring their hips together, facing each other and both panting.

Strike’s eyes had turned almost black with lust and need, his lips were parted but his hands continued to stroke and squeeze Robin's bared flesh.  
“Let’s not overthink this……...we’re two guys….and we want this….yeah?” he gasped, his gaze fully focused on Robin.

Robin’s brain was hazy with need and arousal, but he nodded.   
There wasn’t anything he could think of that would have stopped him continuing this…..this….whatever the fuck this was.   
All he knew was that he wanted and needed Strike’s hands and lips on him; and he needed it now.

Fuck!   
He’d nodded!  
Robin wanted him as much as he wanted Robin.  
Jesus!  
Aching back be damned!

He deftly slid his arms around the slender waist of Robin and pressed himself above him, hovering on his broad, muscular shoulders as Robin adjusted his hips and lifted one hand to capture his bristled jawline.  
They licked into each other’s mouths hungrily, saliva and heated breath combining into a sexy combined new taste and aroma between them.

Robin’s hips bucked up to meet the solid pressure of Cormoran and he slid his other hand around to cup and squeeze his surprisingly well toned arse over his sweat pants.  
The noise issued by the dark man pleased Robin so much that he repeated his actions again and again, each time pulling Cormoran’s hips snugger and snugger against him, writhing and rubbing his own erection against the equally solid length of him.

Strike briefly broke their kiss.  
“This would be even better with these off,” he hissed, looking down and inhaling sharply at the sight of their hips moulded together.

Robin again nodded and slid his thumbs under the waistband of Strike’s pyjamas, tugging firmly and groaning at the sensation of softly furred skin beneath his fingers when he moved his palms across each gloriously curved buttock.  
Strike pushed back on his elbows and pressed himself up as Robin pulled the trousers down further, freeing his erection.

“Fuuuuck!” mumbled Robin as his eyes took in the sight.

“Fuck good? Or fuck bad?” Cormoran asked, shifting his weight a little to free himself fully from his clothes and grasping his shaft firmly with one hand, his eyes seeking out Robin’s lustful gaze.

The honey haired man gave a smirking chuckle and managed to draw his eyes away from the impressive sight, “Oh….you KNOW it’s good….stop fishing!” he sniggered and arched himself up onto his own elbows , squirming to reach his own underwear.

He was stilled however by a stern glare and a wolfishly sinister, “Uh, nuh” from Strike.  
He flicked at Robin’s fingers and wriggled further down the bed, his own hands taking over where Robin’s had been focused.

“I’m unwrapping you,” he whispered and proceeded to lick his way down Robin’s recumbent body, smiling as his tongue toyed at his belly button before slowly pulling away the tight fabric of his boxers and nipping at the chiselled and toned skin revealed at his belly.  
“You’ve got those ironing board muscles….just here,” he smiled, his eyes almost burning into the skin he was so purposefully and reverently gazing at and trailing his tongue against.

Robin smiled down at him, “Is that all you’re interested in down there?”

Strike’s expression changed in a heartbeat and with an almost brutal movement he tore down Robin’s briefs and gasped as Robin’s ridiculously solid cock was exposed to him.  
His eyes feasted on it, his jaw slackened and the dark, arch browed gaze he flashed up at Robin’s expectant face was like fireworks being ignited.  
“I’m very, very interested in this, Ellacott!” and he maintained his gaze on Robin as he moved his hand to grasp and pull back on the shaft. 

Robin’s eyes glazed over as he felt the perfect grip, the teasing tug as he drew his skin back to expose his aching head.  
Robin knew he was leaking with arousal.  
Strike flicked his gaze down to watch as he coaxed a pleasing bead of shimmering liquid from Robin’s gorgeous cock.  
Fuck he wanted to suck it!  
But he also knew that he’d fucking explode himself if he did that right now.

He therefore released his grasp and crawled back up the bed, capturing one of Robin’s wrists and holding it, languidly bent, above Robin’s honey gold hair on the pillows.  
Their hips were now locked together.

Robin vaguely recognised that there was less of Cormoran pressing against him on one side, and that the hairiness of his left calf was the direct opposite to the skin on his right.  
Cautiously, maintaining eye contact with Strike who was peering down at him hungrily, he allowed his hand to travel down and stroke against the unfamiliar, slightly gnarled skin of Strike’s partial limb.  
To his surprise and delight he didn’t move away, infact he bent his knee joint and brought more of the stump up to meet Robin's slow, tender exploration.

“Why is that people find that so sexy?” Strike’s rumbling voice faltered a little as Robin’s fingers kneaded into the muscles.

Robin smiled up at the dark eyes peering back at him, “It’s not that I find the leg particularly sexy….it’s that you trust me doing this that’s sexy.”

Strike’s grasp on Robin’s wrist tightened fractionally, and he was leaning forwards, his lips hovering deliciously close to Robin’s soft smile.

Jesus he was good at this!

That comment about ‘people’ finding his limb sexy…..implied a lot of sexual partners.  
He’d mentioned he and Charles had been together on and off for years…..he’d clearly experienced a lot more of the gay lifestyle than Robin had.  
But under his mesmerically alluring gaze, with the heat, firmness and scent of him almost overwhelming Robin’s senses, he felt like this was a step he was now willing to take.

He’d never been with anyone except Jo….and Cormoran was so very different in every possible way.  
It was completely thrilling and the most stupidly hedonistic thing he’d ever done.  
But he threw caution to the wind and arched his head up, grasping Strike’s lower lip between his teeth.

They fell into a languidly slow, noisy, wet kiss. 

Strike pulsed his hips against Robin, he kept control of his arm draped above his head, but the hold slid from his wrist to their fingers which entwined and squeezed as their cocks sought relief from their aching excitement against the other man’s.

“What do you like?” Strike hissed, not willing to break off from their kisses and mouthing the words against Robin’s parted, panting lips.

“I like all of this,” Robin managed to whimper back, emitting a loud and almost uncontrolled moan as Cormoran mouthed his way down to his neck and slid his free arm around to settle in the nape of Robin’s back, pushing their hips closer together as he ground himself throatily against the firmness.

“Jesus this feels good,” Cormoran’s usual level of deep growl was ramped up at least threefold, and his hot breath, bristling stubble and talented tongue was playing havoc with Robin’s smooth jaw and neck. “You’re so smooth….so soft,” he breathed, moving back and licking his way across Robin’s well defined pecs before flicking up amused eyes and lapping his tongue out across one of Robin’s small, rosy coloured nipples.

“That’s not fair!” he almost squealed as Strike latched his mouth around the puckered skin and teased his teeth and tongue across and around in an almost shambolic pattern, but which was perfectly designed to keep him from knowing exactly what sensation he would experience next.

Yeah….this guy was fucking good.  
I mean he had no real playing field of comparison, but he and Jo had never been like this.

Sure they’d had some decent sex….but this part….the build up, the exploration, the teasing and learning how to please part…..that hadn’t been developed in this way.

He was very aware that Strike was showering him with all manner of delightful sensations whilst he mainly writhed beneath him, although his hand had become rather engrossed in cupping, caressing and kneading into the closest of his boss’s buttocks.  
Each time Robin slid his hand down underneath and squeezed the firm flesh in his splayed hand Strike would give a shudder of pleasure; his cock throbbed against his own thigh, and on one occasion when Robin didn’t deliver the expected rough squeeze the dark haired man gave him such a petulantly disappointed, wide eyed whimper that Robin broke his hand free and having hooked his leg around Strike’s hip squirmed around so that he was now on top.

He pushed Strike’s shoulders down firmly onto the mattress, and he responded by roving his large, slightly rough hands across Robin’s thighs and backside as Robin trailed his own across the wide expanse of hairy chest made available to him.  
He dipped his head down and located one of Strike’s nipples which was already bullet hard.   
He flicked his tongue across it and then covered it with his mouth, lapping quickly and firmly and enjoying the delighted moans Cormoran made. 

He felt Strike’s hands grip more firmly around his hips and he felt him start to rub his cock against his firm belly.  
His hands had swarmed around and were investigating every curve, dimple and crevice of his arse, his confident fingers stroked everywhere but without penetrating him, he simply seemed to want to drag the pleasure higher and higher.

After a few minutes Robin felt a slight pressure on his shoulder and released Strikes’ pec from his mouth, continuing to circle across the dark skin with his thumb.  
“Stop grinning like that!” Cormoran laughed, “I’ll cum if you keep that up!”

Robin grinned and sat back on his haunches, glance down at their cocks, “Isn’t that the idea?”

“Eventually….yeah….just not yet,” Strike hissed, and trailed his own gaze down to focus on Robin’s prick. “You really do have a very gorgeous cock.”

Robin cleared his throat and knew he was blushing, “So do you…...in fact, it’s so gorgeous,” he started to crawl his way down the bed, “I think I’d like to suck on it…..would that be OK?”

Strike pressed up onto his elbows, then his palms, making his upper arm muscles pop rather gloriously in Robin’s opinion.  
“Definitely,” he hissed and felt his neck melt as Robin’s tongue trailed a line from the base of his shaft up to his tip.

With a slight shift in his shoulders Robin wrapped his hand around the impressive length and lapped at the musky, tangy juices at the slit.   
He watched closely as his hand coaxed the soft, supple skin down to reveal Strike’s darkened head. He flicked his eyes up and saw Cormoran’s gaze fixed on him, his jaw slack, chest heaving.

“Pleease,” he hissed and clenched his buttocks, making his cock bob in Robin’s tightening grip.

With a deliciously mischievous grin Robin maintained eye contact and swirled a significant amount of his saliva around to mix with the leaking, salty fluid, pressing his mouth across the soft, shining skin and pulling back to leave a strand of glistening juices between his lips and Strike’s cock.  
He looked back up and smirked at the pleading expression on the other man’s face before sliding his mouth around to engulf the impressive length.

Strike had been desperate for Robin to wrap his mouth around his cock, but the sight of that strand of spit between Robin’s pale, lower lip and the head of it was just almost too good to spoil.  
However, when he felt the warm, wet haven of Robin’s mouth lowering down to take increasing amounts of his length inside it he forgot about the saliva string thing and simply tried to resist grabbing Robin’s amber hair and thrusting himself selfishly down his throat.

Robin was loving going down on Strike.  
He’d sat up a little against the pillows and was resting on his palms meaning that Robin could really sink down and work his neck and jaw slack to take most of Cormoran’s gloriously rippled length.

Cormoran was watching and relishing the sight of Robin working his jaw up and down his length.   
His broad, lightly freckled shoulders were braced either side of his own hips, and his smooth backside was clenching and pulsing in time with the amazing rhythm he was building with his mouth.

Christ he was fucking good at giving a blow job!

“Jesus Robin….fuck…... .”

Robin briefly drew back and licked his lips, giving his cheeks a slight respite and flashed a smug, almost boyish smile at Strike before moving to continue his ministrations.  
His boss however had other idea and gave a deeply, growling, “Naaah, no way, your turn,” and clasped his hands around Robin’s shoulders, dragging him back up the bed as he squirmed down.  
When their faces became adjacent once more they engaged in a further, breathy round of delving kisses; each man positioning the neck of the other so as to thoroughly plunder their mouth.

Strike was taking delight in scraping his splayed fingers through Robin’s soft hair, grasping handfuls and tugging lightly on it as they fell into one another’s panting kisses.  
He had been intending to repay the favour and suck on Robin’s exquisite cock, but Robin’s writhing body above him, their naked skin sliding together with sweat, he suddenly knew that he’d passed the point of further stimulation.

He slithered his hand down between their bodies and wrapped it around Robin’s cock, feeling his body freeze before melting against him.

“Oh Christ…..Cormoran…..yesssss,” he hissed, muffling his shouts as the man started to work him in his fist.

It was completely evident that both were almost falling over the edge.   
Strike pushed himself up onto one arm, and Robin instinctively helped take his weight, pushing him back as they both looked between them.  
Strike’s large hand swiftly engulfed his own cock alongside Robin’s and briefly flicked his gaze to meet the other man.

“Help me,” he whispered, and Robin slid his other hand to join Strike’s as they began to work their cocks with more vigour and purpose.

Strike nuzzled his face forwards and found Robin’s lips, but after a brief lick into each others’ mouth Robin pulled back, “I want to watch you cum,” he panted, all wide, lust filled eyes and innocent pink lips.

Both shouted their release several seconds later and watched as creamy streaks of their combined cum splattered across their bellies and as high as their chests in the case of Robin.

Foreheads resting together, one hand grasping each others’ necks they gasped for breath; and in the case of Strike for his eyesight to return; and in the case of Robin for his eyes to consent to being dragged away from the sticky proof of their lust.

“How’s your back feeling?” Robin managed to pant softly.

He felt as well as heard the huffing laugh from the other man, “Funnily enough it had skipped my mind!” he eased away and rolled to the side of Robin, groaning and wrinkling his lips at the state of his chest, “How the fuck did it get up here?”

Robin leaned up onto his elbow and grinned at the place high on his chest Strike was indicating, “Beauty of being a young whipper snapper,” he cheekily quipped, smiling with a glorious just cum blush to his cheeks.

“You cheeky fucker!” grinned Strike, “Just for that you can go get a flannel.”  
He lay back, giggled and sighed as Robin wriggled his bootie charmingly into the bathroom where he heard the tap being run.

Shit, that had been amazing.

And completely stupid…..they had to work together, at least for another week. AND they had to share a car together for several hours when they woke up.

Oh shit….damn his secretary’s sexy arse..... and sexy cock..... and juicy spunk that was all over his fucking belly.  
What now?

Robin reappeared having cleaned himself and handed Strike a wash cloth and small towel.  
“You want me to go back over there?” Robin asked, perched gingerly on the edge of the larger bed, indicating the single bed he'd left with it's crumpled covers.

That would be the sensible option….end the hook up now…...although to be fair that ship sailed about an hour ago!

Having wiped his chest and belly, leaving slightly darker patches of damp chest hair he dropped the cloths to the floor and turned his head towards Robin.  
“No......stay here,” he whispered, extending his arm and welcoming Robin’s pliant body against his, smoothing his palm across the gorgeously soft skin and inhaling the warm, seaside scent of his hair.

Whatever the fuck shit storm was going to come down they’d deal with it later.


	11. The morning after.....thank you. *SMUT FREE ZONE*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after and both men try to come to terms with their feelings and how to convey them to each other - canon in a way - ie they are useless!

Strike woke up 10 minutes before his alarm sounded.  
He inhaled and sighed at the sensation of his head resting on the naked, highly sculpted abdominal muscles of a familiarly scented man.

Robin.

He’d slept with Robin.

He had woken wrapped around Robin….and part of him never wanted to get up and leave the bed, because it had been a one night hook-up.  
There was no possible other way it could work.

Robin’s breaths were deep and regular.  
Cormoran pressed a light as a feather kiss against the exposed, smooth skin of Robin’s waist and inhaled his musky scent, storing it away in his olfactory senses before carefully easing himself upright.

His back was aching where he’d fallen over, but he could hardly complain about the turn events had taken.

He dragged his prosthetic across and sat back down to attach it, Robin squirmed a little but stayed asleep.  
God he looked gorgeous, and there was a small mark on his chest that he knew his mouth was responsible for.

With a second sigh and shake of his head he got up, grabbing his bag and made his way through to the shower room.

When Robin’s alarm sounded he rolled over and briefly forgot that he had ended up in the larger bed….along with his boss after what could only be described as one of the best sexual encounters of his life.  
And yet now he was alone - and based on the lack of clothing and noise as he raised himself up, rubbing his rumpled hair - Strike had vacated the room; although the side of the bed was vaguely warm, and the shower room when he entered it showed recent usage.

So they had actually slept with each other after….

As he showered he considered how these things worked.  
They were two gay guys…...who’d hooked up.  
This kind of thing happened - Robin knew it did from some of his and Jo’s London friends. They all seemed to have slept with each other at some point in the past - something which Robin had found slightly odd - and they all interacted perfectly normally together.

The trouble was, the one off hook-up he’d just shared with his boss had felt more meaningful and loving than anything he’d ever shared with his so called lover.

Damn.

Strike had managed to gather his belongings, quickly shower and get himself dressed without disturbing Robin’s slumbers.  
He gave the naked and barely covered man’s body a final, lustful once over - he’d have to both commit the image to his memory and yet also somehow manage to work alongside him without mentally undressing him and seeing this glorious sight.  
Although part of him couldn’t help but consider that if Robin so desired, they were both single….they could carry on where last night had left off…….but Robin would surely see it just as a one night, ‘take advantage of the situation’ hook up.   
Surely.

After nipping outside to inhale a couple of cigarettes worth of nicotine he took advantage of their free breakfast by selecting bacon, eggs, mushrooms and fried bread as well as toast, orange juice and a pot of tea.  
He was on his second pot, and second rack of toast when he spotted Robin.

No glasses - presumably the contacts were back in for the day - and he was wearing a lovely slate blue coloured shirt, more casual than his usual office attire which really brought out the colour of his eyes and made his hair appear even more shiny and glorious than usual.  
Their eyes made contact and Strike saw a flicker of a rueful smile from his secretary.   
He gave an open nod and waited as Robin came across to join him with his wheeled case in tow.

“Mornin’,” Strike offered, “The breakfast is good, I can recommend the bacon!”

Robin glanced around at the choices, he was more of a cereal and yoghurt guy for breakfast, but mainly because anything else took too long to cook and organise!  
Having selected a bowl of granola and heaped on loads of blueberries and the contents of a black cherry yoghurt he returned to the table and asked for a pot of black coffee from the waitress.

“So,” Strike began, “I assume last night was…….?”

Robin swallowed his mouthful of crunchy cereal and focused his attention on getting several blueberries onto his spoon as he replied, “A one off thing…...it won’t interfere with work. We’re both adults, right?”   
He flashed his gaze momentarily up to meet Cormoran’s eyes and had to look away.

Jesus there was an intensity behind those green eyes that was a little alarming.

Clearing his throat Strike managed to quell his desire to retort with, “Please don’t say that. Can’t we do that again tonight and every night?”

Instead he said, “Of course. I mean, we’re both single….not like we did anything wrong is it?”

He waited for Robin to respond with a rueful smile.

“Not at all,” Robin murmured, their soft gazes this time interrupted by the arrival of Robin’s coffee. “Your back OK? Need any more gel on it?”   
There was a definite twinkle behind Robin’s eyes now as he poured out his drink.

Strike stood up and wrinkled his lips, “Still a bit tender…..don’t think you applying more gel is a good idea though…..can’t afford a late check out can we?”  
There was that smile again.   
From Robin’s beautiful lips.  
God his smile was heaven  
“Right, I’m gonna get another cigarette and set the SatNav up and stuff. Take your time though there’s no rush,” Strike indicated Robin’s meal. 

Half an hour later Robin had assumed his position in the driver’s seat and they were en route to their lead’s address, making good time and with Strike using the time to make several phone calls to the DI who had originally been on the case, someone in a forensics lab and the concierge of the apartment block that the model had fallen from.  
It was quite amusing to listen to the tone he took with each person depending upon whether he was wheedling for information or showing how annoyed he was about poor work.  
Robin glanced across several times and tried to blot out images of the man which kept flashing into his brain.   
Images of his swarthy chest, bulging biceps, amazing cock and talented lips.  
The fact that his right hand was within touching distance of his own when he changed gear was seriously distracting, as was the fact that a significant portion of his chest hair was visible at the unbuttoned neckline of his pale green shirt.

Strike needed to occupy himself in the car, otherwise he felt he’d simply stare at Robin’s profile and claw his hand up and down his thigh - it was so close to his right hand!

Images of Robin’s perfect lips sucking on his cock had been pretty much all he’d been able to see since waking. Alternating with the soft, warm smiles and breathy moans he’d seen from the gorgeous man as they’d…...loved each other?

He knew Robin was viewing this as a one night hook-up, and Strike had definitely had his fair share of those, but the early hours of the morning between them both in that bed had touched somewhere much deeper inside him.

Fuck….he had feelings.  
Feelings were things he didn’t like because they made him uneasy…..liable to being hurt.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and tried to immerse himself in work, although Robin’s presence next to him was seriously impacting on his equilibrium.

They met with the lead and, courtesy of Strike's clever approach to questioning, managed to get some decent information along with a couple of images on Strike’s phone which he showed to Robin once they stopped off at a little before 1pm for some lunch.  
British motorway services had improved vastly, so noodle Bento box meals were enjoyed.  
Robin made a couple of additional comments about the information, one of which made Strike zoom in on one of the pictures and nod, issuing a muffled, “Bloody good spot!” through a mouthful of noodles.

Having put a minimal amount of fuel in the car Robin drove them back to London, dropping Strike back at Denmark Street so that he could return the hire car before 5pm.  
As he found as convenient a spot as possible to stop for his boss Robin felt a little empty at the thought that this episode of their relationship was going to be over.

Strike had been consumed within his own thoughts whilst consuming a can of Coke which he’d placed into the cup holder between the seats some time back.  
As the car halted he picked it back up rather hastily, slopping some of the contents across his thigh and shirt and releasing a fairly predictable string of expletives.

“Here!” Robin instinctively pulled a few fast food napkins out of his door pocket and thrust them towards Strike.   
He dabbed at the splashes he could see on his trousers and continued to swear profusely at his own cack-handedness.  
Robin chuckled and reached across to tackle some of the brown drips which had splattered onto his beard.  
“Can’t take me anywhere!” he growled, taking over wiping his face and leaving Robin to address some of the splashes resting on the fabric of his shirt.

This was dangerous again!

He’d been sitting thinking about last night and how to move forwards as Robin drove.   
It had been a hook up.  
Robin had been pretty clear about the fact that he saw it as that way.   
He presumably hadn’t been thinking about it further as he’d driven.  
But now, as he flicked his eyelashes upwards, Strike was frozen by the feeling of Robin’s hand at his chest. 

Yes he was wiping at Coke stains…..but he was being fairly persistent…..and soft…...and damn it, he was staring right into his eyes.

Robin had acted instinctively and naturally in helping to clean up his mess, but as his hand had made contact with his firm chest he’d found himself rubbing just a little more carefully at the fabric, his little finger had even grazed against some of the chest hair playing peek-a-boo at the front of his open collar.  
And now their eyes were locked together, and despite saying it had been a one night ‘forget it’ kind of thing Robin had the distinct impression that Strike didn’t want their adventure to end either.

“I think that’s got it all,” Robin murmured, his eyes unable to break away from Strike’s intense gaze.  
He eased back slightly and moved to withdraw his hand.  
Strike swallowed and reached his free hand - the one not clasping the mainly empty can and damp napkins - up to capture Robin’s.  
He brought it to his lips, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to Robin’s fingers which to his delight twitched slightly to press back against his stubbled chin.  
“Thank you,” he whispered before breaking their contact and fairly abruptly opening the car door.

Robin sat, open mouthed, in the driver’s seat as he heard and felt Strike remove his kit bag from the boot and close it again before giving two pats to the roof of the vehicle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting the next chapter straight away - Robin's evening - and what is happening next with Jo....and Robin's clothes!


	12. Robin goes back to the flat.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin gets a message from Jo meaning that he goes back to the flat.  
> Sadly, Jo has been a complete tosser and has ruined all of Robin's clothes........

Somehow Robin managed to get the car to the hire firm and complete the online paperwork for it’s return before he made his way, case wheeling along, towards the tube.  
He checked his phone and noticed several messages from Jo.  
Robin knew he had to face whatever shitstorm was coming - hopefully Jo would make things easy and they’d be able to go their own ways.

The first was a further request for him to “Come back, or you’ll lose me.”  
The second was along a similar vein, but the third, which had been sent fairly recently stated that Robin should return to the flat they had shared in order to collect his “shit” and “get the fuck out of my life” whilst he was away.

Away?   
Where the hell had he gone?

Robin risked typing a message, asking the question and received a reply fairly promptly showing a ‘Fake Smiling’ Jo and Shaz, arms around each other at an airport selfie and a clarification that Shaz and he had booked a last minute holiday in Ibiza and he’d be gone for 10 days, during which time he expected Robin to have “cleared out” and “left my life for good!”

Robin sighed and rolled his eyes.  
In one way this was good - at least the begging him to stay stuff would end!  
But it felt rather hasty, and Robin had actually put in half the money for the deposit on the flat initially….although to be fair Jo had been paying the monthly rent for the past few months.  
He took a mental note of the platform he needed for the flat rather than Ilsa and Nikki’s and strode across, tapping out a text to them that he would send as soon as he was on the exposed platform.

It felt slightly weird to be returning to the flat which had been his home for so long, but which felt less familiar after a couple of days away than it should have done.   
The flat had the expected smell of ‘home’ - a mixture of shower gels, cooking smells and just that scent that you notice after an absence but which becomes part of normality once you are submerged in it.  
He slid the handle of his small case down and carried it up the stairs. 

The door to what had been his and Jo’s shared bedroom was firmly closed but the one to the small spare room was wide open and showed heaps of Robin’s belongings littering every surface as well as a mountain central on the floor.

“Great!” Robin tutted. 

He took a wearied breath and went through to the bathroom - all of his products had been removed, presumably they were part of the madness next door - but he sat dejectedly on the toilet.  
He unfastened his trousers and used the loo while he was there, using the opportunity to consider his options.

There was no rush other than to free up space to sleep - although to be fair, what the fuck was Jo going to do if he used the other bedroom? He was in fucking Ibiza!  
So no, he wouldn’t rush through sorting things other then to locate the clothes he would need for a few days.

He’d look at some of the flats and house shares he’d already started identifying whilst sleeping at Ilsa’s place and make a concerted effort to find something….although his money situation wasn’t great.  
He had the job with Cormoran for a further week, but then he was back to the temping agency, and having sacked them off this week he knew he’d be bottom of the list again.

Shit!

He might have to suck up his pride and phone his parents to help…..they’d do the whole “I told you so” thing over Jo - his mum had always said she didn’t feel it was right between them….but then again, she’d also presumably be thrilled they’d split up and would be more likely to raid the bank for some money for her lovely only son!

So, having replaced the loo seat lid and washed his hands he scanned around the cluttered spare room and moved a few items around, vaguely starting to make piles of stuff. However, as his hand moved it caught against something damp.

Upon closer inspection he discovered that most of the pile of clothes heaped onto the floor had patchy wet stains and suspicious looking streaks across them.  
“Oh you complete fucker!” he stated aloud.

As he collected a bundle of underwear and t shirts and made his way down to the kitchen he considered whether it was only Jo’s or Jo’s and Shaz’s piss that he would be washing off his clothes in load after load of washing.

Oh, and he’d tossed an opened tin of his favourite soup into the washing machine too for good measure he discovered!

“Cunt!” he hissed as he unrolled kitchen towel and started to scoop out the larger pieces of chorizo and lentils before setting the washing machine on a hot wash to remove the rest of the debris before he could start tackling his clothing.

The emotional part of him wanted to slump onto the floor and eat ice cream and dry Sugar Puffs, but the practical side of him won out and he instead rummaged beneath the sink and located a roll of bin bags.

He then spent the time it took the washing machine to go through it’s cycle sorting out his clothes into stuff which could go into different loads; some stuff he would just throw away, but had sighed and thumped his head sadly against the sofabed upon the realisation that all 3 of his decent suits would need specialist dry cleaning….and he was supposed to be going to that event thing with Strike tomorrow evening.  
He could barely afford to have them cleaned at the standard rate, but trying for a hasty turn around was silly money based on the website price list he located on his phone.

Well, there was nothing he could do about it, he’d just have to tell Strike tomorrow and let him go to the thing by himself.  
That was a bit annoying….he’d been slightly giddy about the idea of accompanying Strike to a sort of non-work type event….and that was before he sucked his cock!

He lugged several of the bin bags down into the kitchen, all ready to be loaded one after the other into the washing machine.  
The fold out clothes dryer was located beneath the pile of clothes, so he studiously scrubbed it clean and set it up ready for hanging the first load on.   
He stripped and put fresh covers on the bed - he didn’t want the aroma of Jo, and no doubt Shaz, infiltrating his senses as he slept later.

It was almost 7 o’clock when he stopped and took a breath.   
His first thoughts were about food, and having found some instant noodle pots he quickly made one up and ate it stood at the kitchen counter.

He started to make a list on the pad which was usually for hastily scribbled shopping lists of jobs he needed to focus on over the next few days as a priority and made himself a cup of peppermint tea.  
There were no further messages from Jo on his phone, and he decided against sending a reaction to his piss covered clothing - that would be exactly what Jo wanted; to have a further laugh at his expense.  
So he draped the second completed load of washing across radiators and hangers in doorways and bundled a further load of his shirts and casual wear into the washer before slumping in front of the TV.  
For some reason he couldn’t quite fathom he sought out a further episode of Bottom and laughed at the ridiculous antics of Ritchie and Eddie before dragging himself, exhausted to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmmm - no suits....I wonder how Strike might solve that problem??? #greensuit


	13. Of course there has to be a misunderstanding!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OK, don't hate me for the angst and misunderstanding, but it is canon that Strike gets the wrong end of the stick and goes out on the pull!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everybody wave to Callum.....and wink and tap your nose if you work out the other model mentioned and his new boyfriend! #Ilovemyboyz

Meanwhile, Cormoran had trudged up to his new, sparsely furnished flat and unpacked his kit bag.  
The sight of the tube of pain relief gel made him emit a rather ridiculously adolescent giggle and he mentally slapped himself to drag him out of the stupid, fluffy place his brain was urging him go into.  
“NO!” he stated firmly, “Not a good idea Strike…..even though he gives the most incredible blow job,” he added as a murmur whilst he sorted through the clothing he’d taken to Barrow with him.

Work was always the best way for him to switch off, so he went down into his office, lit up a cigarette and fired up his computer before spending a couple of focused hours writing up notes on the interview with their lead, and adding further details into the plethora of images, reports and statements he already had scanned and stored in folders on the screen.

One of the messages he’d received on his phone whilst in Barrow had been from a model friend of Lula Landry, offering to talk about some parts of the investigation, but only willing to do so in person.  
He therefore glanced at his watch and called the number he’d been given a little before 6pm. His thought being that maybe he could meet them the following day.  
He was therefore a little surprised when the model’s purring feminine voice stated that he should come down to the venue of the shoot she was currently working on as she’d be there until at least 10 that evening and was leaving the country the following day.

He considered his options - he was pretty hungry and really needed to shower and change - but told the model that he’d aim to be there sometime after 8 and before 9.  
He therefore finished typing and closed down the files before locking the office and making his way back upstairs.

He stuck a pan of water on to boil whilst he showered and hopped across whilst still drying off fully, using the various handily positioned ceiling beams, in order to dump some dried pasta and salt into the bubbling pan.  
Whilst the pasta cooked he put on fresh underwear and went through the annoyingly elaborate process of drying, moisturising and then applying talc to re dry his partial limb before fitting his prosthesis.

Able to move around more easily, but now with fresh moisture across his back from the effort of getting his leg attached, he located a pot of pasta sauce and stirred it through the drained penne before dishing up a decent portion into a bowl.  
As he ate he glanced at the notes he’d made and questions he wanted to hopefully tackle when he met the model later.   
She was called Ciara Porter and he’d seen her willowy form draped around Lula in many magazine advertisement campaigns - which had been part of his research on the case rather than something he carried out as part of his usual life.

Despite having no sexual attraction to her, he could easily see why she was a popular model - she had the long limbs and bone structure that always photographed well - however, the other models adorning the pages were generally of more interest to him visually.  
One of the men who appeared a lot was rather broad and hairy chested - nice if you were into that kind of thing - and he seemed to think the guy was recently in a relationship with a new man….he seemed to recall a guy much more to his general preference in men in some photographs of a recent appearance which had been splattered across copies of the Metro.

One of the other regular faces in the various photo shoots appealed much more to him; but given his recent exertions with Robin even this tattoo’d, steely eyed God couldn’t really tempt him…..although he was as fit as fuck!

He finished his meal and considered clothing options - it was highly unlikely that the model would want him hanging around the fashion shoot - or indeed that they would like to stay longer than necessary at a location they had been working in all day (he certainly wouldn’t!) so he opted for a smarter option in his choices.  
His decent tan brogues, dark grey trousers and a plain black shirt, which with the top couple of buttons unfastened and his hair slightly controlled via scraping his hands through it after applying a little after shave to his palms created what he considered to be a reasonable attempt at smart!

He grabbed the essentials - wallet, notepad and pen, phone, keys, smokes - and headed off towards the tube.  
His thoughts wandered, as he strolled along, to Robin.  
What would Robin be doing now?   
Probably curled up on one of the cosy, well lived in sofas at Ilsa and Nikki’s…...possibly dishing the dirt on what they’d got up to the previous evening!  
Or would he?  
Maybe he’d retain the secrecy…..maybe the whole keeping it secret thing was rather sexy…..maybe if they agreed to keep it secret they could do it all again?

The thoughts annoyed him - hook-ups were supposed to be just that!   
One night only, never to be referred to except drunkenly giggled over after a suitable period had passed between both involved.

But the memory of Robin wrapped around him; writhing beneath him and returning his kisses ferociously was etched in his mind.  
And he wanted more of it.

Damn!

He located the building which Ciara Porter had sent him directions to and found his entrance easy enough as she had clearly advised the security of his expected arrival.  
Strike wasn’t the type of man to have experienced many high end fashion shoots, but the almost eerie silence, punctuated by the unnaturally loud noise of camera shutters clicking in rapid succession was enough to bring back memories of being back in action in the army.

The scene visible showed a huge array of camera equipment, lighting screens, those silver umbrella things, powerfully strong spot lights, cables swarming across the floors, making every step a potential trip hazard.

Nobody paid Strike any attention as he made his way across to what looked like an appropriate place for him to wait.   
He propped himself on a canvas style chair which was clearly being used for make up and hair based on the range of products scattered around it.  
He focused on the models who were patiently following rapid and sometimes rather abrupt instructions to adjust a wrist, or a chin, or a nostril (who the fuck could control their fucking nostrils?!)

“Ciara darling…...try and focus, and Callum, can you please try and look as though you want to fuck the camera….I’m not asking you to pretend to want to fuck Ciara….just something that resembles lust…..pleeeease!”

A brash, Cockney accent shouted the instructions, resulting in a degree of eye rolling, and when his back was turned, crude, but amusing gesticulations involving a middle finger and in the case of the rather delectably tattoo’d male, a fist and an elbow joint.

Strike stifled his amusement as the duo quickly resumed their languid poses, but the male found Cormoran’s eyes briefly and gave him a gaze of rather alarming sensuality.

“Perfect Callum…...why didn’t you give me that half a fucking hour ago?!” barked Cockney Guy and the camera shutters and flashes pulsed.

Strike found himself trailing his eyes up and down the rather shamelessly sexy pose being adopted by ‘Callum’ - he was the guy he’d singled out in the plethora of magazine shots - and judging by the furtive glances away from the camera lens he was equally as interested in Strike.

A loud shout of “Right. Take 5,” was met with an almost instant level of bustle around the shoot.   
The models ambled away from their various plinths and concrete blocks ( why? Surely the clothes would get plucked to buggery?) and Ciara Porter made her way, smiling like a tigress, across to where Strike had stood to vacate the make up chair and greet her.  
“You must be Cormoran Strike, I’m Ciara. You’re investigating Lula’s death….I’m glad,” she stated and casually started to remove her clothes, stripping down to a plain, flesh toned pair of briefs and bra before wrapping herself in a peacock inspired robe.

Strike averted his eyes slightly as she made herself decent - the fact that the rather glorious Callum was doing similar in a partially concealed area was a much more welcome view - and he regarded her as she sat and casually lit a cigarette, offering him one from the pack.  
“Smoking in a workplace?” he smirked, “Maybe I’ll look into this modelling lark!”

Ciara smiled; she actually had a really sweet and honest smile that, to his mind, was infinitely more attractive than the vacant expressions the photographer seemed to want.

“What kind of information do you want from me?” she asked and waited as he readied his note pad.  
Strike didn’t offer any preamble, simply began by asking about a couple of incidents he had seen written about in the various reports, and also a couple of rather blunt questions about Lula and Ciara’s friendship, and their relationship with her ex boyfriend.

From his gut feeling he instantly considered that Ciara was absolutely giving him the facts, no bullshit, and seemed to want her friend’s death properly investigated.

“She just wouldn’t have killed herself. I know that sounds naive…..but honestly, she had so much going right,” she stubbed out her cigarette, sipped on some water and turned to allow a make up artist to apply a rather vivid shade of orange lipstick.  
Strike thought it made her look like she’d eaten too many Wotsits, but assumed his opinion was irrelevant.

“Thanks for your time,” he offered as he stood back and made to leave.

“Don’t go yet,” she instructed, “There’s someone else that wants to speak to you...I’ll get them. Wait here.”  
She stood up and wafted across, behind the rails of clothes.   
Strike could hear mumbled and clearly lowered voices - Ciara’s and a masculine rumble.

When it became clear that Ciara wasn’t instantly returning he pulled out his phone.   
Glancing through his messages he found none from Robin - he was slightly disappointed, but then again, what reason had Robin had to contact him?  
He scrolled through and found Ilsa’s number and called it.

C : Hey. You all alright? 

I : Hey Corm. Yep, me and Nikki are fine sweetie. How about you? You’re not still working are you?

C : Yeah, just chasing up a lead. Robin OK? 

I : I assume so babes.

C : What do you mean? Is he not there?

I : Well no….he’s back at his flat…..Corm?....Corm!

Ilsa shook her head at the hastily hung up conversation - typical Corm!

Strike was flabbergasted.

After everything that had happened Robin had gone back to Jo?

He’d cheated on him, repeatedly with one of their friends….over a lengthy period of time, and Robin had told him when they were in Barrow and in the car that they’d drifted apart and that the end had been in sight for a while.  
And yet he’d gone back to him.

“Cormoran? This is Callum Turner. He knew Lula pretty well….he wanted to speak to you,” Ciara had appeared infront of him with the stunning, blue eyed male Strike had been ogling in the magazine earlier, and who had been casting appreciative, smouldering glances at him from the photo shoot set.  
Ciara floated off as she was called to re dress.

“So….Callum, was it?” Strike asked, his brain still trying to compartmentalise his feelings of dismay at Robin’s behaviour, and his feelings of attraction towards the guy who was leaning sexily against the make-up mirror.

“Yeah….I’m Callum. Ciara said you’re looking into Lula’s death?” he waited and pierced Strike with a pair of eyes that were as blue as the darkest denim.  
Cormoran’s brain somehow slotted into place the fact that an incredibly attractive man was staring rather unashamedly at him and he pulled back his shoulders a little.

Fuck Robin then….if he wanted to go back to Jo…….fuck him!

“I am. Is that something you think you’d be able to help me with?” Strike asked, noticing that the model’s eyes were trailing from his brogues upwards, with a sneaky little smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.  
He moved closer and bent towards Cormoran’s ear.   
His hot breath, mildly scented with cinnamon and cigarette smoke was thrilling as it warmed the skin of his ear.

“I’ve got something I think you might find interesting….and part of it’s connected to the case,” he gave a smile so erotically charged it should have been illegal…..and it was directed 100% towards Strike.

“Is that right?” the returned green eyes flashed arousal and longing - although the scene in the burly man’s head was not playing out between himself and this Adonis-like model, but a much softer, amber haired version…..who sadly had forsaken him for the ex boyfriend who clearly wasn’t worthy of laying his head beside him at night.

“Not here though,” Callum turned serious quickly, this time the look behind his blue eyes was one of pleading; begging for understanding and compassion almost.  
Strike picked up the model’s hesitation and sensed that what he had to share was potentially something key, maybe even something that hadn’t come up in the previous investigation… ..or even covered up?   
No, surely Wardle wasn’t one of those coppers?  
With a nod and a wrinkle of his lips, which he had no idea had such a profound impact on the model, Strike glanced at his watch.

“You gonna be much longer here? I could wait in the bar on the corner?” he suggested.

Callum inclined his neck a little and winced, “Bit too risky…...sadly if I walk in there we won’t get any privacy!” He gave an arch to his eyebrow which Strike recognised from one of the advertising campaign images he’d been studying earlier on.

“Do we NEED privacy?” Strike asked, returning the eyebrow with an equally James Bond style twitch to his own.

Callum Turner; world famous model; known for his self assured, cocky mannerisms in front of a camera; felt a decided wibble to his lower belly and forced his deep, slightly ‘South of the River’ accented voice to remain calm as he responded.  
“I think we might.” he met Strike’s gaze levelly this time, his teeth slightly worrying his bottom lip as he continued very softly, “It concerns something from the last time I saw Lula…..which was on the day she died…..something that hasn’t been in the press and I don’t think the police took seriously. Will you? Ciara said we should trust you.”

Cormoran nodded slowly and softly.   
“You can trust me….I’m being paid very handsomely to do a thorough investigation and I don’t truly care if a few feathers get ruffled while I do that as long as I end up with a true picture. You got any suggestions about when you could pop into the office then?”

Callum wrinkled his lips rather sexily, “Just because the bar down the road is out of the question doesn’t mean all bars are out of bounds!” he heard his name being called and casually looked around and responded with a “Yeah, on my way,” which sounded rather gruff and ‘don’t mess with me’ but when he turned back to address Strike his voice softened and became honey-like again, “You heard of Uzi? Dalston way? I can meet you there, if you say you’re meeting me at the door, and give them the code word Aristophanes; they’ll show you to my usual table. I should be through here in less than an hour….that OK?”

Cormoran considered his options. 

Robin had gone back to Jo.

He really was interested in any leads on the case - it was at the messy stage of starting to slot together, but not fully…...Callum Turner’s information might fill in a few blanks!

And he was fucking hot as hell!  
And definitely interested in more than just information sharing!

“Yeah, alright….I’ll head over there and see you later on,” Strike gave an eye crinkling smile at the rather pleased and slightly boyish looking grin returned to him by the model before he strode languidly over towards the rails of clothes. He discarded the black jacket he’d been wearing and stripped his white shirt off too, giving Cormoran and anyone else who was paying him any attention a delicious view of his smooth, muscular and highly decorated back.

As if sensing (or was it just hoping?) that Cormoran’s gaze remained on him he turned, revealing a chiselled chest and abdominal muscles that you could have grated cheese on, together with a couple more detailed and very attractive tattoos.  
“See you later,” he shouted across, before raising his eyebrows and fingering the waistband of his trousers.

Whilst he was still capable of walking Strike left and once outside tapped in details to his phone to locate Uzi.   
Callum had said the name in that offhand manner of ‘you’ll know it….everyone knows it’ which of course, Strike didn’t!  
He did however know the Dalston area a bit - Charles had always liked the clubs and trendy eating places around there - so he strode off towards the tube, sucking in nicotine and considering whether he had any condoms in his wallet.

Robin had clearly made his choice…...so Strike was making his own!


	14. Lead on!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OK, so the aftermath and consequences of the misunderstanding plays out.  
> Cormoran arranges to meet up with Callum Turner - chisel toned, tattoo decorated, muscular bodied sex god.  
> .....hmmmm, I bet those pictures are going to end up under the gaze of someone!!!!!

Strike managed to locate the neon decorated club, which thankfully was less ‘throbbing bass and flashing colour’ inside.   
Infact, having given the details Callum had shared with him, he had been shown to a very secluded and comfortable suede booth type table, although the seating was more reminiscent of lounge sofas than the padded banquettes usually associated with such things.   
He was removing his overcoat when he was asked about a drink….yeah, drinking in a secluded, dimly lit club whilst waiting for a sex god of a gay, male model to meet him was an excellent idea.  
“Whisky….a decent one…..large,” he instructed and made himself comfortable, semi oblivious to the various glances he was receiving from both genders in the club as he checked emails - nothing more from Robin, so presumably he was deeply involved in making up for lost time with his boyfriend - and then moved onto a word puzzle game on his phone which always passed the hours on surveillance.

Having ordered a second of the very acceptable whiskies he lost track of time and was startled a little by a jokey, masculine voice.  
“I’m almost reluctant to disturb you…...that focus and attention to detail bodes very well indeed!”

Strike jumped a little and stared into the shamelessly smirking eyes of Callum Turner.  
Christ he looked fucking amazing….and he smelled amazing…..and every single eye in the place was on him…..and yet the only thing his deliciously blue eyes were focused on was him….Cormoran fucking Strike!

He quickly cleared his throat - determined to at least attempt to keep the meeting professional…...at least until he got a signal suggesting otherwise.

Callum slid along into the seat beside him and dropped one hand beneath the table level, instantly making contact with Strike’s thigh.  
He squeezed the tensed muscles into relaxation and purposefully moved his hand up, stopping short of a clue to Strike’s interest and thoughts that not even the most inept investigator could miss.  
Eyes locked together, smiles subtly hidden as seductive glares as a glass of something was delivered to the table for Callum, they both sipped.

“Look, did you invite me here to give me some information about that case? Only I need to know whether to charge my hourly rate to my client!” Cormoran gave a wrinkle to his lips as Callum confidently sucked an ice cube between his finger and thumb before returning it to his glass.

“I do have some information about Lula…..about who she was supposed to be seeing the night she died…..so you can charge your client if you like…..but I was sort of hoping we could get the business part of the evening sorted pretty quickly and move onto…...pleasure instead?”

Strike swirled the amber coloured liquid in his own glass before taking a further sip, licking across his uneven lips as he replaced the glass on the table infront of him.  
He levelled a darkly animalistic gaze at Callum’s steely blue eyes.   
Christ he was hot as shit!

He was wearing an outfit that on anyone else would have looked ridiculous, but on Callum’s toned, model-confident body it screamed unrestrained sexuality.  
A pair of black, flat fronted trousers - worn without a belt, Strike noticed - patent evening shoes with no socks, a white dress shirt with a highly pleated and pin tucked yoke and a frankly obscene number of buttons left unfastened and topped off with a velvet smoking jacket featuring quilted effect lapels.  
The whole ensemble screamed either high fashion, or fashion disaster depending on the swagger of the wearer…...and Callum was definitely pulling this off….although as he stared into the model’s eyes and felt his hand begin to caress up and down his thigh again beneath the table Cormoran couldn’t help but think that it was HIM that would like to be pulling it off…..every beautifully crafted garment!

“OK…...hit me with it then…..but it had better be good - I’m guessing I’m picking the tab up for these?” Strike waggled his empty glass and attracted the attention of the barman who nodded and began to prepare two more drinks.

Callum gave a rather cute little giggle and removed his fingers from their fidgety investigation of Strike’s…..well….. almost tackle territory!  
“I thought you said you could bill this bit to the client?” he grinned and flashed a sincere ‘Thank you’ as a waitress arrived with their replacement drinks. “Ok, I was working with Lula on the day she died…….

By the time Callum had drained his glass, and Strike had only a mouthful left in his own (he’d been slightly side tracked making scribbled notes as the man beside him spoke) Callum Turner had blown open the case which Strike had been feeling was nearing the end of the line as far as his skills could take it.

As he had spoken Callum’s accent had become increasingly relaxed and ‘South Coast’ and his body language had softened too.  
A few glances around had shown that most eyes in the place were still trained on their table - Callum was clearly the biggest name in the place, and he was certainly one of the most attractive resting places for the eyes.

Strike had continued flicking back and forth between pages in his notes after Callum ceased speaking.   
He eventually paused, cleared his throat and raised his eyes to Callum’s waiting, mischievous gaze.  
“So obviously that concludes the professional part of the evening then!” he smirked, enjoying the hitch to Callum’s breathing as he licked across his lip and placed the notepad into the inside pocket of his overcoat. “Let me settle up.”  
Callum however shook his head and slid effortlessly along the sofa, standing and casually adjusting his jacket lapels with a flick of his fingers.

“My treat…….and you can pay me back at mine if you like?” he twitched his neck to one side and raised his eyebrows.

With a deep inhalation at the complete predictability of this situation - Callum was clearly used to men following him home upon request, and much as Strike would love to have been an anomaly by refusing…….he wanted to fuck his misery over Robin away…..and Callum was a very nice prospect for meeting that need!  
“Lead on,” he murmured, catching the additional dilation to Callum’s already wide-blown pupils.

Eyes followed their exit from the club, and a plethora of flashbulbs and cameras greeted their arrival onto the pavement.  
Strike cursed, both inwardly and vocally - these shots would no doubt creep into the various online media channels at some point. Hopefully he was low key enough to slip under the radar.  
Callum was moving purposefully towards a black BMW, glancing and smirking at Strike over his shoulder.  
A dark skinned driver held and closed the back seat door for Callum, Strike was left to his own on the other side of the vehicle.

“I thought you said you lived around here…..that Dalston was local for you?” Cormoran queried once the car had smoothly set off.  
Callum twisted a little in his seat - was it Strike’s imagination or had a further button on the fucking shirt popped open? - his chiselled pecs displayed rather beautifully in the darkened gloom of the car.

“Good memory….although I suppose that goes with the job!” he smirked, reaching out and teasing a fingertip in lazy circles across Strike’s closest knee - the partial one of his legs.  
Callum continued, “But I do…..it’s not far but unfortunately we’d have been followed and photographed and I wouldn’t have been able to do this…”  
Callum leaned across, sliding his palm firmly up, under the large overcoat of his companion, and only stopping once his hand was massaging against the bristled skin of Strike’s neck.

“In that case,” murmured Cormoran, inclining his head fractionally, “The car was a very good idea.”  
Callum’s hand flexed a little, Strike moved one of his own to grip and position the model’s jawline into the perfect position to deliver a breath sapping, plundering kiss as the vehicle moved through the London streets.

Both men were experienced enough to know exactly what they wanted from the night.  
They kissed with hunger and need; each seeking their own pleasure, but in so doing spurring on the other to their own desires.  
Cormoran dimly registered that Callum’s teeth biting at his lower lip and his hissed pants of what he wanted were so markedly different to what he’d experienced with Robin the night before.

THIS..... THIS was a one night hook-up!

Shit…...what he’d had with Robin had definitely felt different.

Thoughts of Robin were briefly flung from his brain as Callum’s hand finally made contact with the front of Strike’s trousers.

Both men issued gutteral moans; Strike of relief; Callum of complete orgasmic thrill - Jesus he was fucking well hung….and hard….and perfect for what he had planned.

Cormoran became dimly aware of the road surface changing to a cobbled rumble and Callum broke away from him, his lips and jawline reddened from their oral based onslaughts.  
“I’m gonna get out and go inside, and if you want to join me that would be great…..equally if you’d rather leave things as they are just let Tyler know and he’ll drive you wherever you prefer,” the statement coincided with the car pulling up infront of an understated but well maintained ‘industrial type’ building.

Strike took a breath.

Callum was clearly very much used to this - even giving him an easy ‘get out clause’ and managing to simultaneously signify that if he ventured inside the assumption was that he was consenting to whatever they decided to do.

Callum had reached the small, glass covered porchway as Strike got out of the car.   
He turned and gave a rueful smirk and watched as Cormoran made his way over to join him.

A second vehicle had followed the black BMW from Uzi and as the two men reacquainted their lips at the doorway briefly, with a loud eruption of masculine laughter, followed by Strike’s hand squeezing Callum’s arse and Callum’s teeth connecting noisily with Strike’s left ear, neither noticed the click of camera shutters as they were illuminated by the headlights of their own vehicle turning and heading off back towards it’s next pick up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now....for those of you so inclined I will be posting some smut next....it will have boys in it....and one of them will be Cormoran....and he will be doing very boy things to Callum's bottom!  
> So, if that doesn't float your boat skip the next chapter with the knowledge that 'Callum and Cormoran have a lovely evening together'  
> ....and if it does indeed float your boat......then jump aboard!


	15. *SMUT CHAPTER * He aimed to please!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is just Cormoran and Callum, two experienced gay guys going at it!  
> And Callum eats complete crap.

Callum and Strike giggled and groped their way inside and up to the second floor apartment in the building which Callum had been living in for several years.  
The lift had very much met with Strike’s approval, and once the doors had slid closed the pair had utilised the sealed privacy to indulge in a hip grinding kiss with hands staying just about legal, although Cormoran had been unable to resist sliding his own inside the open shirt of the muscular model.

“Do you want a drink or shall we just get straight to it?” Callum asked, biting down on Cormoran’s neck and delighting in the way he used his bulk to manoeuvre him up against one of the exposed metal support beams throughout the open plan living space.

Strike pressed his hips more firmly against Callum’s writhing groin and hissed as the model shucked off his jacket, dropping it to the floor before pushing Cormoran’s over coat off his broad shoulders.  
His slightly snarky grin was ridiculously sexy and Strike found himself rather desperate all of a sudden to enjoy more of his body.

“I think we both know what we want from tonight….right?” he asked and watched as Callum raised his eyebrows and nodded slowly in response.

“Bedroom?” he asked, locking his hand around the nape of Strike’s neck and dragging their lips together for a further animalistic kiss.

Their kisses were all wide mouthed hunger and heat.  
No finesse or tenderness.  
Just pure primal need.

The mumbled “Uh humm” from Strike was almost swallowed by Callum’s desperation as he squirmed away from where he was pleasingly pressed against the steel girder and pulled Strike through the casually elegant space.

Callum’s bedroom was a large space, primarily occupied by a large cast iron framed bed covered in pale grey coloured linens, plump pillows and a velvetty throw.

The pair entangled again and moved in a mixture of shuffles and lurching steps towards the bed, hands continuing to explore clothing; finding gaps and the sensation of warm skin, hard nipples, firm erections and always with the panting heat of wet, lingering kisses.

“Shower?” Callum managed to gasp as he pressed back and began to tackle the remaining buttons of his shirt before rippling his incredibly buff body out of the garment, tossing it across the room and grinning as Strike’s eyes flashed arousal, as did the front of his trousers.

Strike gave a throaty growl as Callum’s hands worked on his trousers and dropped them to the floor revealing a small, very tight pair of marl grey briefs which were almost failing to disguise the throbbing erection of the model.  
There was a dark patch of leaking moisture visible and Strike reached across to press his thumb against the mark, ensuring that in doing so he located the sensitive head of Callum’s cock.

There was a hiss and a chuckle of delight from the almost naked model; although Strike couldn’t help but think that the various tattoos covering his chest, back, upper arms and belly acted a little like additional clothing - they were certainly aspects he wanted to explore.

Callum’s hands moved over to Strike, “You’re over dressed,” he whispered, sucking on his neck as he tugged at the black shirt.  
Strike allowed him to tackle the shirt and automatically pulled his stomach muscles in a little when his palms slithered up to drag it from his back.

“You know about my leg right?” Strike hissed as the model’s talented fingers deftly started to deal with the belt and fly of Strike’s dark trousers.

Callum gave a deep groan and nodded, “Yeah…..anything I need to be careful about? Anything…..any…..positions I should rule out?” he asked giving a gasp which was returned by Strike as he delved his hand through the split in his boxers and encircled Cormoran’s rigid length.  
He moved his grip loosely up and down, ghosting his finger across the head and collecting some of the juices before removing his hand and sucking blissfully on the salty, musky taste.

Strike’s complete leg almost gave way at the combined sight and physical sensation, but he managed to shake his head and blink back to some semblance of control.  
“No…..nothing that you need to worry about…..shower could be an issue though…..you might have to leave me alone in it, let me concentrate….sadly!” he grinned and barely stifled a growl as Callum’s lips formed a boyishly soft pout.

“You mean I’ve got to leave you to get all this wet and I can’t touch?” he was running his hands shamelessly across the dark hair covering Strike’s chest as his lips pouted and wrinkled rather charmingly.

Strike giggled back at him, “Not unless you fancy trying to pick me up off the floor when I’ve lost my balance and fallen arse over tit!”

Both men were now relaxed and enjoying each other.  
Callum gave another of his natural, and completely beautiful smiles.  
“How about I show you where my whisky is kept, then I’ll have a shower and leave you to yours while I get some bits and pieces organised in here?”

“Can I smoke?” Strike asked cheekily as he hooked his flies closed and Callum moved back towards the living area.

“You can….most definitely!” Callum nodded and grinned over his shoulder at Strike’s open mouthed stare, “What?”

Strike shook his head and sniffed, “Nothin’....you have a fucking amazing arse! Anyone ever told you you should be a model?”

Callum liked this cheeky Strike.   
It kept things light, non serious….no need to establish that this was intended as a single night of passion and release for them both then move on - no numbers exchanged; no pleading phone calls and messages desperate for more…..in Callum’s view it was perfect.

Strike followed the annoyingly perfect pair of tightly encased buttocks as they went over to a large, antique looking cabinet which when opened revealed a perfect array of alcoholic drinks, glasses and other cocktail making equipment - from a brief glance it appeared that Callum was a dry Martini man, although there was a selection of rather good single malts and bourbons too.  
“Ice is….” Callum wafted his hand vaguely in the direction of the kitchen area, “......you can find your way around, right?”  
Strike nodded and reached out to slide his palm against Callum’s flat, toned stomach as he went past, “Don’t take too long,” he hissed before teasing his fingertips down and pressing against Callum’s firmness.

Alone in the living space, Strike helped himself to a glass of whisky and lit a cigarette as he surveyed the tall bookcases.   
Our Callum had quite a varied and interesting taste in literature apparently!

He could hear the shower running and gave a deep sigh at the prospect of what was to come…...a night of regret free sex was just what his ego needed after being tossed aside by Robin…..although in Robin’s defence he had simply enjoyed a one night hook-up and gone back to his long term partner…...nobody should have got hurt.

So why had it hit Strike like a sucker punch when Ilsa had said he’d gone back to his flat?  
Fuck!

He drained his whisky, lit a further cigarette and went across to prepare a second and gave a deep growl of admiration as a damp Callum, clad only in a low slung white towel at his hips, appeared and ambled, panther like across to him.

“How about I finish this off while you shower,” he reached out and removed the cigarette from between Strike’s lips.  
Callum brought his mouth to cover Strike’s and urged his lips open with the pressure of his own, smiling and making a soft moan as the smoke transferred from Strike’s exhalation into his mouth.  
When they broke apart both men exhaled the lungful of smoke and smiled.  
Strike handed his whisky tumbler over to Callum and moved back towards the bedroom which upon entering he noticed had had the lighting adjusted - a couple of small lamps now cast a pleasurably soft glow around the room.  
A door on the far side had been left open and Strike moved across to it, noticing that his own shirt had been placed onto an upholstered divan rather than the crumpled heap it had been on the floor.

The shower space was large, immaculately tidy and smelled like a mixture of rain on hot concrete infused with the delectable signature scent Callum had been exuding earlier.  
A quick glance at the shower revealed it to be large, glass walled and easy enough to enter without needing to hop, and he could utilise the top of the panels to maintain his balance. He therefore removed his clothing whilst sat on the toilet; taking the opportunity to pee while he was there as his cock had thankfully softened slightly.  
He spent several minutes under the jets of water before carefully making his way back across to the lidded toilet in order to dry off, mainly focusing on his partial limb, so that he could reattach his prosthetic and go in to join Callum.  
He slung one of the white towels (of which there were mountains!) around his hips and wandered back into the bedroom.

He smiled at the sight of a recumbent Callum, the towel barely covering his modesty as he sprawled back against the pillows.  
Strike noticed instantly the small wooden tray which had appeared on the small drawer unit beside the bed - a couple of different lubes, a few condoms which he was amused to note were in ‘his’ size.  
“You do realise that there are enough towels in there to furnish a reasonable sized gym don’t you?” he stated, issuing a small gasp as Callum reacted by flicking his eyebrows up and grasping his own erection over the top of his towel.

Strike could easily make out the exact size, shape and length of the model as he tugged at himself; it made his own, nicely warmed and tingling cock, twitch pleasurably and become evident against his own covering.  
Callum’s eyes were obviously centred on it and he smiled, “Oooh…..now that looks very promising…..and I would definitely give you a special discounted gym membership package….with lots of special features included!”

Strike stood against the bed and waited as Callum squirmed around and straddled his legs either side of Cormoran’s calves.  
He hissed at the coldness of the metal pinned prosthetic, but quickly adjusted the position of his foot to rest against the hard attached ‘foot’.  
“Is it very kinky that I find this all rather horny….especially the reflection?” Callum flicked his eyes briefly across to the full length dressing mirror which showed Strike looming large and semi sinisterly above Callum’s upward peering face, his hands splayed across each buttock of the standing man as he leaned back fractionally and teased his fingers through the models’ naturally dried, but slightly damp hair.

“It’s just metal, and a bit of carbon…..and from my point of view it’s just a pain in the arse!” Cormoran rumbled, but continued to stroke his large, splayed palms across Callum’s scalp, enjoying it as he inflected his neck and pressed into the touch.

“What? A pain in THIS arse?” as he spoke Callum’s hands slid up beneath the towel Strike was still draped in.

The groan from Strike and his purse lipped nod was like a spark of flame between them.  
Callum moved quickly and tore the towel away from Cormoran’s hips and dug his fingers pleasurably into the firm, tensed muscles of his backside.  
His fingers moved and stroked closer and closer to the cleft between his arse, and as Callum’s eyes flicked between the leaking head of his impressive erection up to his dark, pleading eyes he slid his fingers along the crease, earning a guttural sob from Strike as well as a rocking pulse of his hips, bringing the leaking slit of his cock within licking distance of Callum’s pouting mouth.

Cormoran briefly thought about Robin’s lips around his cock the previous evening.   
They had felt amazing, as did Callum’s as he rapturously sucked Strike deep into his mouth, and any thoughts he had of guilt or sadness that his pleasure was not being provided by the amber-haired man quickly evaporated when the clearly incredibly experienced Callum Turner simultaneously pressed a digit against his opening, tugged firmly on one of his nipples, which his other hand had swarmed up his chest to locate, whilst angling his neck and sinking forwards in order to take all nine, generous inches of Strike’s cock down into his throat.

“Fuuuuuuck!!!!” hissed Strike and instantly moved to press his hands firmly around Callum’s skull, tugging on his hair and forcing him (willingly, based on Callum’s muffled groans of delight) into a building rhythm.

Callum was loving every second of the experience.   
Strike’s cock was thick and hard as hell, and hairy men were very high up on his kink list….plus glancing over and catching sight of the prosthetic reflected beside the other muscular calf was ridiculously doing it for him. He would have to have a serious talk with himself later on, but right now Cormoran Strike’s hips were bucking his delicious cock down his throat and he was squeezing his skull fucking amazingly.

Strike allowed his neck to melt and his head to drop back as he allowed Callum to take control and take him deep into his throat, rocking him and stroking up and down his still damp and warm seam, pressing and teasing around his entrance.  
He was tight, he knew he was - he hadn’t had any real action back there for a while - but he was now completely in the mood for whatever Callum felt like.

They hadn’t discussed preferences, but it was clear that Callum knew what he was doing, and knew how far to push things.  
Speaking of which he needed to give Callum a bit of warning…..Callum was bloody good at this and if he continued doing whatever the fuck he was doing with his tongue to the underside of his cock he’d lose it completely.

A glance sideways at the reflected image of Callum, eyes closed in blissful concentration, and a particularly well placed press against his hole caused Strike to react instinctively and tug back on the models’ hair roughly.  
“Official warning, mate…..and I’d rather not cum quite yet,” he growled, biting his lip and exhaling sharply as Callum removed his mouth from his almost erupting cock.

“Well in that case, how about repaying the favour...on this?” and Callum fell back onto his elbows, flicking the towel from his hips and revealing his rather glorious erection.  
Strike gave a deep, rumbling groan of arousal, “Perfect, but I’d find it easier without this…..no matter how kinky you find it,” he gestured towards his prosthesis and sat down on the mattress as Callum squirmed backwards and tossed aside his towel.

Having removed his limb and propped it against the small cabinet, Strike crawled his way between Callum Turners splayed thighs.   
He quirked his eyebrows and slipped his hands under the models’ pert buttocks, lifting his hips in his rough grasp and toyed his thumbs at the soft skin behind Callum’s sack as he trailed his tongue from the base of his shaft up to the smooth, sensitive, leaking head.

Callum was loud and unabashed in his encouragement, he hitched his knees and thighs wider to accommodate Cormoran’s broad shoulders and rocked his hips up as Strike sucked his cock deeply and noisily.

Strike enjoyed giving blow jobs; he was good at them and particularly liked it when the receiver of the pleasure took an active part….Callum was very active.  
His shouted narration of how good it felt was incredibly arousing; as was the pressure of his hands and fingers pressing and tugging at Strike’s unruly curls.  
Strike built up a pleasurable rhythm with his mouth and tongue, his shoulders rippled as he worked Callum’s long, smooth cock deeper into his throat, relaxing his jaw to avoid gagging and grinding his own erection into the mattress.

He briefly drew his lips free and smirked at the pouting, pleading eyes of Callum looking down at him.   
With a quick look over his shoulder, Strike shifted his palms under Callum’s arse, his thumbs now stroking and pressing at his crease.  
“Legs up, Model Man…..and if you still like the kinky mirror you should get one hell of an image!” Cormoran hissed softly before delving his face down, hitching Callum’s backside higher and licking a hot, firm trail along his smooth, musky seam.

Callum shouted his approval and gazed over at the reflection in the mirror.  
Strike’s arse pulsing and clenching as he moved his face; his heavy sack and rigid cock visible between his legs; his partial limb bent and visible with it’s gnarled, raised and scarred skin, and the prosthetic he’d removed also visible in the mirror.

“Fucking hell!” hissed Callum as he dropped his head back on his neck and placed himself fully into the experienced hands and incredibly talented tongue of Cormoran Strike as he rimmed his most intimate entrance, pressing and teasing expertly with his tongue.   
His rough fingers dug into the muscles of his arse cheeks, parting them incrementally wider and wider as his stubbled beard became more involved in the whole experience for Callum.  
He was seeing stars; writhing and panting, shouting all manner of obscenities, his hands gripping at the pillows, bedcovers and his own cock as his arousal rose further.

Strike enjoyed making a guy cum…..it was a gloriously pleasurable boost to the ego, and he sensed that Callum was close.  
He pressed his tongue more rapidly against his opening and growled as Callum called him an inventive, profanity based name as he bucked against his jaw.

Pulling back and shushing Callum’s shouted, petulant whimpers of frustration he flicked his gaze across to the cabinet.  
“Tell me what you need,” he murmured.

Callum stared down into the green eyes, blown wide with dark arousal; at the thickly haired chest; at the line of dark hairs trailing down to his impressively thick cock which the talented detective was currently stroking languidly.

Gasping and barely able to control his voice Callum managed to pant, “I want you to fuck me,” and watched as Strike gave an almost sinister smirk before reaching across and picking up a flip top bottle of lube and one of the larger sized condoms.

“You want warming up a bit?” he asked, “Or…..are you a pain threshold guy?”

Callum squirmed with delight.   
The good thing about a one night hook up with another experienced guy was that both parties got straight to the point; nobody tip toed around asking for and saying what they wanted.   
It made things infinitely simpler, and usually guaranteed enjoyment.  
As he indicated that he required a little lubricated finger loosening first he considered whether a proper, real, meaningful relationship would be this honest and easy…..Callum had no experience of them - although if his mate Leo fucked things up with his new fella he’d be straight in there to give it a try!  
His thoughts however were quickly dragged back to the present and his current sexual partner as he felt a slickly covered large digit pressing against and then inside his entrance.

Christ, he knew exactly what he was doing.

Strike had brought his body down close to Callums’ his arm hooking one of his calves across his shoulders leaving him access to Callum, and ensuring that Callum’s legs were parted comfortably.  
He’d latched his lips and teeth onto the skin below Callum’s ear and was sucking and biting, growling with his own pleasure as he worked his finger deeper and deeper, stretching and preparing Callum for him.  
Callum’s loud gasps had dropped to an equally sexy hissed murmur as Strike continued to work him; he gave a shuddering gasp as a second finger breached him and Strike moved his lips to cover and swallow his more exuberant cries as his hand pumped skillfully into him.

“Fuck you’re good at this,” Callum gasped, briefly breaking their passionate, noisy kisses by tugging the detectives’ hair and pulling his head away.  
There was a delighted smile across his uneven lips and Callum licked out with his tongue to pull him back in for more heated and hungry kisses.

Strike’s own excitement had been roused fully, and he was hard and heavy against the mattress.   
With a rough hitch to his position his cock was pressing against Callum’s arse as he pulsed his hand with now 3 fingers stretching and pleasuring Callum.

It was Strike who ceased the kiss and pulled his face back; mouth parted and eyes like beads of jet.  
He stared intently into Callum’s desperate eyes and slowly, carefully and with practised ease, twisted his wrist, stretched up his middle finger buried deep inside Callum’s arse and flicked against his prostate, causing Callum’s cock to twitch uncontrollably and his mouth to issue a further string of expletives, which mainly sought to assure Strike that he was, “fucking perfect.”

Cormoran used his position of power to tease and refrain from giving Callum pleasure for a few minutes - something about Callum’s wide blown pupils and rigidly still abs told him that he enjoyed a bit of that! - and then withdrew his fingers completely, glancing purposefully down and pursing his lips at the sight of Callum’s pink, glistening and definitely prepared opening.

“I don’t fuck hook ups this way though,” Strike snarled, panting as he tore open the condom packets and rolled the latex over himself, giving his cock a couple of additional pumps with his fist as Callum obediently wriggled over onto all fours - he understood the line Cormoran was referencing; face the face fucking was often something people preferred as part of a relationship - it implied kissing, eye contact, a deeper connection - and this was definitely not intended to be anything other than hedonistic pleasure for them both.

Cormoran gave a masculine chuckle as Callum’s new position in front of him perfectly displayed both his waiting hole and a rather gloriously colourful tattoo on his left arse cheek.  
Callum twisted his head and gave a grin at the focus of Cormoran’s attention,  
“Enjoying the view?” he asked, “It’ll still be there after you’ve fucked me if you wanna give it some detailed inspection!”

Strike gave an amused wrinkle to his lips, Callum was charmingly businesslike in his desires, it was sexy…...Strike appreciated confidence.

“It’s pretty,” Strike purred, lining his cock up with Callum’s opening and enjoying the rippling view of his broad shoulders and further tattoos at the base of his spine and nape of his neck. “And once I bottom out in you I won’t get to look at it anymore…..so I’m taking advantage now.”

With a grunt from each of them Strike pushed inside, easing his wide solidity slowly but purposefully inside Callum.  
Strike was kneeling with one hand wrapped around and pressed flat against the marvellously defined abdominal muscles of Callum. His other was gripping Callum’s hip, helping to pull him closer.  
He could feel that he’d passed the point within Callum that his fingers had prepared; there was an increased tightness which he thrusted against, causing Callum to hiss and drop down onto his elbows.

“Alright?” he asked, pausing briefly and pulsing minimally awaiting a response from Callum.  
The model gave a panther-like roll to his beautiful shoulders and pressed himself back up, turning his glazed eyed gaze to meet Strike.

“It’s more than alright,” he smirked, “But I reckon you can still see my tattoo!”

Strike returned the cheeky wink he received and moved both hands to grip more firmly at Callum’s slender hips as he thrust firmly and fully into him; pulling his hips back and snapping them forwards with a perfect degree of aggression and intensity for both of their pleasure.  
Strike used the range of grunts and whimpers emanating from Callum as a positive sign, plus his own enjoyment was now making itself more evident and he could feel a familiar heat and tightening at the base of his spine.

He slipped one palm around and grasped it around Callum’s rigid cock and began to work him at a pace to match his increasingly rapid and powerful thrusts into him.  
With a groan and shout of delight Callum arched himself back and up, grasping one of his hands behind Strike’s thick neck and urging him, “Don’t stop, fucking…..don’t you dare stop you bastard!” 

Strike may well be a bastard…..but he aimed to please!

He felt Callum’s other hand covering his own, gripping at his muscular hips, urging the pounding rhythm to continue.  
Both men felt the moment they broke - Strike gave a guttural shout as he pulsed deep within Callum and bit down on his shoulder; Callum’s spurting release followed a second later with Cormoran’s firm grip dragging it from him and decorating the pale grey linens with streaking ribbons.

Both men’s orgasmic tension dissipated and Callum twisted his head fractionally, nuzzling to reach Strike’s panting, parted lips, delivering a soft, rather tender kiss.  
Strike eased himself out of Callum and dealt with removing the rather full condom as they kissed and gasped their breathing back to normal.

Callum face planted into his pillows and squirmed over, one arm leisurely draped above his head, the other against his flat abs.  
“You know what I fancy now?” he stated, eyebrows waggling.  
Strike deposited the condom in a wad of tissues onto the floor and collapsed into the space beside the model, groaning.

“Callum, mate, I’ve got at least 15 years on you…...I can’t go again just yet!” he laughed ruefully.

Callum laughed loudly and poked the hairy chest with his index finger, trailing a slight pathway across the damp skin, “Fuck off! After that I’m good for nothing either, despite how fucking amazing your arse looked in that mirror! I was simply gonna suggest pizza…..or DONUTS!” his face became animated and twinkly as he rose up onto his elbow, lazily stroking at Cormoran’s still heaving chest.  
Strike giggled, partly because Callum’s fingers had located one of his still sensitive and currently rather ticklish nipples, and partly because the realisation his him that he’d just fucked a super model.  
“I could go for pizza…..I’m not capable of moving for a bit though, that OK?” he asked, exhaling and blowing a couple of his unruly curls from his sticky forehead.

Callum smiled down at him and scrambled up, wincing a little as the flood of post-coital endorphins ebbed away and the sting at his backside became apparent.  
“Then stay put and allow me. Margarita with pepperoni on OK?” he asked as he wandered through into the bathroom.  
Strike heard a tap and guessed that his host was cleaning up a little with a delicately placed flannel involved.

When he reappeared he was still naked and ambled shamelessly over to a cabinet where he withdrew and dragged on a pair of snug fitting, pristine white boxers.  
“Right, I’ll get pizza ordered…..and I know this is uncool, but do you fancy a brew?” he wrinkled his nose a little and then grinned as Strike’s head shot up along with a single thumb.

Callum made tea; popping his head around bedroom door once to ascertain whether Cormoran wanted milk or sugar; and brought two steaming mugs through to the bedroom where Strike had made himself comfortable under the bedcovers.  
“Pizza’s gonna be about twenty minutes so I brought a starter,” he whisked a bag of peanut M&Ms from behind his back.  
He encouraged Strike to drag back the covers and crossed his legs beneath him before tearing open the choccies and grabbing a handful.

“Let me get this straight,” Strike grinned, slurping tea and delving into the bag of sweets, “You’re a male model, and you stuff your face with chocolate and pizza?”

Callum grinned and sniggered as he crunched down on several peanuts, “I do! I eat loads of shit...I’ve got 3 sugars in this too,” he indicated his mug of tea and laughed at Strike’s look of horror. “But as you can tell I do like to work a lot of it off!”

They drank and ate in comfortable silence until Callum gave a more serious look at the detective, “You will get whoever killed Lula won’t you? It was clearly not suicide!” he stated seeing the rise to Strike’s eyebrow.  
“Yeah well, I don’t think it was suicide either….and I’ll try. There’s a lot of loose threads….and your little announcement hasn’t exactly helped!” he tossed a red peanut up in the air and caught it in his gaping mouth, “But I suppose I can forgive you!”  
They shared a sneakily sexy grin and for a moment Strike considered sweeping the model back into his arms for round 2, but the doorbell rang and thoughts of hot pizza served to assuage his desires instead!

“You want to eat in bed?” Callum shouted as Strike heard the front door close after a brief exchange between Callum and another male. He briefly considered that the delivery guy had just been given a virtually naked view of the popular model!

The thought of staying in the bed was pleasurable, but not exactly hygienic for eating pizza….plus, if this was a hook up he really did need to consider leaving at some point. He therefore shouted back, “Nah, give me a minute and I’ll come out there.”

When he emerged into the open plan space, prosthetic reattached and wearing his boxer shorts.   
Callum had opened the pizza box and placed it on the low coffee table, which Strike had noticed was covered with books, magazines and newspapers.  
“Lager?” he shouted across and brought 2 bottles with him along with paper napkins.   
He flicked on the TV, “Don’t judge me, but I am addicted to this,” he said as the opening credits to The Great British Bake Off started.  
Cormoran gave a snigger, “REALLY?!”  
“Shut up! It’s good…..easy to watch, and I like cake!” he grinned through a mouthful of melted cheese.

Callum ate his fill of pizza, both men had splayed out on the large sofa, legs resting together, and eventually even Cormoran admitted defeat on the final slice.  
Callum’s head had slipped down and was resting on Strike’s lap, one hand leisurely stroking the dark hairs on his muscular calf as the programme ended, with someone Callum approved of being eliminated from the competition.  
“I should get going,” Strike stated, looking down and meeting Callum’s denim blue gaze staring back.

“Don’t have to,” he replied, “I’m comfy…..you can stay, leave in the morning….I get the feeling you’d make an excellent big spoon,” the model smiled.

His natural smile was completely beautiful.  
It made Strike catch his breath actually….but it also made his thoughts return to the other man whose smile could make him feel giddy.  
He would presumably be curled up as the big or little spoon with his Jo.

“OK….but this is still a one night thing…...no phone numbers exchanged….no….second date!”

Callum rolled his eyes, “Obviously! I don’t do relationships!” he said, squirming his way to standing, collecting and dumping items to tidy up - a feature that Strike found pleasing.

As he stood and watched the adonis-like man in his tight white undies placing the box in his recycling.  
“Callum, why on earth ARE you single?” Strike asked.

Callum huffed out a chuckle, “Because I’ve never found the man of my dreams…..although actually there’s a guy I’ve recently met who comes pretty close…..don’t worry, it’s not you!” he laughed noting the flicker of panic behind the detective’s eyes. “How about you?

Strike exhaled deeply, “Oh, waaaay too complicated for discussion as part of a one night hook up! But…..probably, ultimately same as you!”

Callum came across having rinsed and dried his hands, he slid them around Strike’s back, “So…..in lieu of perfection we’ll have to make do with each other….at least for tonight then!”

They engaged in a noisily passionate kiss before breaking apart and returning to the bedroom where they made their way back to bed, gave each other a further searing orgasm each, courtesy of mouths, lubed fingers and deft wrists, and slept.  
Callum was indeed correct that Strike made an excellent big spoon!


End file.
